“That they are. They want a good taking down, and we mean to do it next week in the junior house match.”
“Ah,” said Wyndham, who amid all his recent troubles could never forget that he was a second-eleven man. “Ah, I heard the juniors’ match was to come off. What day is it to be?”
“Thursday.”
“Oh, I must come and have a look at you. Is Welch’s going to win?”
“Going to try, and I fancy we’re pretty fair. They’ve been lazy, you know, in Parrett’s, and so we get a pull there. Oh, but I was saving that row with the kids wasn’t all this afternoon. Just at the end that cad Wibberly got up and asked Riddell some more about the boat-race—they’re always hammering away at that, and what do you think Riddell said—guess!”
“I can’t,” said Wyndham.
“Why he said he knew who the chap was who had cut the strings, or fancied he did!”
“Who is it?” exclaimed Wyndham, excitedly.
“That’s what he won’t say. And of course there’s an awful row on. They say they’ll make him tell, or kick him out of the school or something. They’re in no end of a rage.”
“Why doesn’t he tell who it is?” asked Wyndham.