faces were flushed with gratified pride and affection.

"Dodd!" broke in "the incongruous dog," with a voice just like a saw's.
"Dodd? Ah, that's the man who is just ploughed for smalls."


Ice has its thunderbolts.


CHAPTER II

WINNING boat-races was all very fine; but a hundred such victories could
not compensate Mr. Kennet's female hearers for one such defeat as he had
announced--a defeat that, to their minds, carried disgrace. Their Edward
plucked! At first they were benumbed, and sat chilled, with red cheeks,
bewildered between present triumph and mortification at hand. Then the
colour ebbed out of their faces, and they encouraged each other feebly in
whispers, "Might it not be a mistake?"

But unconscious Kennet robbed them of this timid hope. He was now in his
element, knew all about it, rushed into details, and sawed away all doubt
from their minds. The sum was this. Dodd's general performance was
mediocre, but passable; he was plucked for his Logic. Hardie said he was
very sorry for it. "What does it matter?" answered Kennet; "he is a
boating-man.

"Well, and I am a boating-man. Why, you told me yourself, the other day,
poor Dodd was anxious about it on account of his friends. And,
by-the-bye, that reminds me they say he has got two pretty sisters here."