"Don't stop," he said, "I could listen all day."

Trevor felt in his pocket for the note, and flung it at him. Clowes
picked it up, and read it gravely.

"What _are_ footer colours?" he asked.

"Well," said Trevor, "it's a pretty rotten sort of joke, whoever sent
it. You haven't said yet whether you did or not."

"What earthly reason should I have for sending it? And I think you're
making a mistake if you think this is meant as a joke."

"You don't really believe this League rot?"

"You didn't see Mill's study 'after treatment'. I did. Anyhow, how do
you account for the card I showed you?"

"But that sort of thing doesn't happen at school."

"Well, it _has_ happened, you see."

"Who do you think did send the letter, then?"

"The President of the League."

"And who the dickens is the President of the League when he's at home?"

"If I knew that, I should tell Mill, and earn his blessing. Not that I
want it."