As the soldiers were disembarking themselves, Mr. Yard was being introduced to the new arrivals on his own side. On every hand he was greeted with the warmest of welcomes.
"I saw you play a couple of years ago for Devon," said one youngster admiringly. "My word, you were in form! Hadn't you a moustache then, by the way?"
Mr. Yard nodded.
"I had it shaved off last year," he said.
By this time the slightly mistaken impression as to his identity had become public property, and the visitors, who had all arrived in their footer kit, were standing about viewing him with mingled expressions of curiosity and respect.
The Colonel, who had brought the Battery over, a jolly-looking, fat old man with a white moustache, came up and introduced himself.
"Glad to have the chance of seeing you play, Mr. Logan," he said, "but it's a low-down trick of young Mortimer here roping you in. We weren't expecting to run up against an International fullback."
"You'll run up against him all right," interrupted Jack, with a laugh. "That's what he's here for."
Mr. Yard, who was beginning to get a little nervous about his growing reputation, smiled uneasily. He had not played for at least five years, and although, thanks to the healthy limitations of Dartmoor, he was in excellent condition, he could not help feeling grave doubts as to whether he would be able to live up to Mr. Logan's formidable fame. However, there was nothing to do now but to go through with it.
Tubby, fully changed, came running out from the pavilion with a ball, followed by several other members of the team.