“Dangle,” said Clapperton, “we must stop that cad Corder’s playing at all cost. It will upset everything. Come and talk to him.”
But Corder, perhaps with an inkling of what was in store for him, had entrenched himself behind a number of other players, and in close proximity to Ranger, who had evidently told himself off to see that the last recruit of the fifteen was not tampered with.
The signals of the two seniors were studiously not observed, and when Dangle, getting desperate, said—
“Corder, half a minute; Clapperton wants you.” Ranger interposed with—
“Come on, you fellows, it’s time we got into our flannels,” and effectually checkmated the manoeuvre.
“If he doesn’t get paid out for this,” growled Clapperton, “I’m precious mistaken.”
“Yes; and the other fellows must see that he is. If this sort of thing spreads, we may as well cave in at once.”
The Rendlesham fellows hovered about under shelter till the last moment, grumbling at the weather, the grass, and the dock. At length the Fellsgarth boys put in an appearance; sides were solemnly tossed for, and the order to “spread out” was given.
“Hullo!” said one of the Rendlesham men as he passed Clapperton and Dangle, “why aren’t you playing? Afraid of the cold?”
“No, we scratched because—”