"But, look here----"

Barry disappeared through the door. After a moment's pause, M'Todd
followed him. He came up with him on the senior gravel.

"What's up?" he inquired.

"Nothing," said Barry.

"Are you sick about not playing for the second?"

"No."

"You are, really. Come and have a bun."

In the philosophy of M'Todd it was indeed a deep-rooted sorrow that
could not be cured by the internal application of a new, hot bun. It
had never failed in his own case.

"Bun!" Barry was quite shocked at the suggestion. "I can't afford to
get myself out of condition with beastly buns."

"But if you aren't playing----"

"You ass. I'm playing for the first. Now, do you see?"

M'Todd gaped. His mind never worked very rapidly. "What about
Rand-Brown, then?" he said.

"Rand-Brown's been chucked out. Can't you understand? You _are_ an