They were all eager to atone for the criticism which all had held in
their hearts and which one of them had spoken. But this business was
serious. To lose a game was bad enough, but to round on a comrade was
unpardonable; while to lose from the game a half-back of Cameron's
calibre was unthinkable.

Meanwhile Cameron was tearing off his football togs and hustling on his
clothes with fierce haste. Dunn kept his eye on him, hurrying his own
dressing and chatting quietly the while. But long before he was ready
for the street, Cameron had crushed his things into a bag and was
looking for his hat.

"Hold on! I'm with you; I'm with you in a jiffy," said Dunn.

"My hat," muttered Cameron, searching wildly among the jumble.

"Oh, hang the hat; let it go! Wait for me, Cameron. Where are you
going?" cried Dunn.

"To the devil," cried the lad, slamming the door behind him.

"And, by Jove, he'll go, too!" said Nesbitt. "Say, I'm awfully sorry I
made that break, Dunn. It was beastly low-down to round on a chap like
that. I'll go after him."

"Do, old chap! He's frightfully cut up. And get him for to-night. He
may fight shy of the dinner. But he's down for the pipes, you know,
and--well, he's just got to be there. Good-bye, you chaps; I'm off!
And--I say, men!" When Dunn said "men" they all knew it was their