"Don't be a slack beast," said Barry. "You want exercise awfully
badly."

And, as M'Todd always did exactly as Barry wished, he gave in, and
spent from four-thirty to five that afternoon in the prescribed manner.
A suggestion on his part at five sharp that it wouldn't be a bad idea
to go and have some tea was not favourably received by the enthusiastic
three-quarter, who proposed to devote what time remained before lock-up
to practising drop-kicking. It was a painful alternative that faced
M'Todd. His allegiance to Barry demanded that he should consent to the
scheme. On the other hand, his allegiance to afternoon tea--equally
strong--called him back to the house, where there was cake, and also
muffins. In the end the question was solved by the appearance of
Drummond, of Seymour's, garbed in football things, and also anxious to
practise drop-kicking. So M'Todd was dismissed to his tea with
opprobrious epithets, and Barry and Drummond settled down to a little
serious and scientific work.

Making allowances for the inevitable attack of nerves that attends a
first appearance in higher football circles than one is accustomed to,
Barry did well against the scratch team--certainly far better than
Rand-Brown had done. His smallness was, of course, against him, and, on
the only occasion on which he really got away, Paget overtook him and
brought him down. But then Paget was exceptionally fast. In the two
most important branches of the game, the taking of passes and tackling,
Barry did well. As far as pluck went he had enough for two, and when
the whistle blew for no-side he had not let Paget through once, and
Trevor felt that his inclusion in the team had been justified. There
was another scratch game on the Saturday. Barry played in it, and did
much better. Paget had gone away by an early train, and the man he had