"I thought he was playing for Somerset," said Horace.

"That was a fortnight ago. You ought to keep up to date in an important
subject like cricket."

Once more Clarence snorted bitterly.

"I'm sure you ought not to be down on the floor, Clarence," said Mr.
Chugwater anxiously. "It is so draughty, and you have evidently got a
nasty cold. _Must_ you lie on the floor?"

"I am spooring," said Clarence with simple dignity.

"But I'm sure you can spoor better sitting on a chair with a nice
book."

"_I_ think the kid's sickening for something," put in Horace
critically. "He's deuced roopy. What's up, Clarry?"

"I was thinking," said Clarence, "of my country--of England."

"What's the matter with England?"

"_She's_ all right," murmured Ralph Peabody.

"My fallen country!" sighed Clarence, a not unmanly tear bedewing the
glasses of his spectacles. "My fallen, stricken country!"

"That kid," said Reggie, laying down his paper, "is talking right
through his hat. My dear old son, are you aware that England has never