The Head of Kay’s

practise scrummaging with the first fifteen, in view of an important school match which was coming off on the following Saturday. Kennedy had not yet received his cap, but he was playing regularly for the first fifteen, and was generally looked upon as a certainty for one of the last places in the team. Fenn, being a three-quarter, had not to participate in this practice. While the forwards were scrummaging on the second fifteen ground, the outsides ran and passed on the first fifteen ground over at the other end of the field. Fenn’s training for the day finished earlier than Kennedy’s, the captain of the Eckleton fifteen, who led the scrum, not being satisfied with the way in which the forwards wheeled. He kept them for a quarter of an hour after the outsides had done their day’s work, and when Kennedy got back to the house and went to Fenn’s study, the latter was not there. He had evidently changed and gone out again, for his football clothes were lying in a heap in a corner of the room. Going back to his own study, he met Spencer.

“Have you seen Fenn?” he asked.

“No,” said the fag. “He hasn’t come in.”

“He’s come in all right, but he’s gone out again. Go and ask Taylor if he knows where he is.”

Taylor was Fenn’s fag.

Spencer went to the junior dayroom, and returned with the information that Taylor did not know.

“Oh, all right, then⁠—it doesn’t matter,” said Kennedy, and went into his study to change.

He had completed this operation, and was thinking of putting his kettle on for tea, when there was a knock at the door.

It was Baker, Jimmy Silver’s fag.

“Oh, Kennedy,” he said, “Silver says, if you aren’t doing anything special, will you go over to his study to tea?”

“Why, is there anything on?”

It struck him as curious that Jimmy should take the trouble to send his fag over to Kay’s with a formal invitation. As a rule the head of Blackburn’s kept open house. His friends were given to understand that they could drop in whenever they liked. Kennedy looked in for tea three times a week on an average.

“I don’t think so,” said Baker.

“Who else is going to be there?”

Jimmy Silver sometimes took it into his head to entertain weird beings from other houses whose brothers or cousins he had met in the holidays. On such occasions he liked to have some trusty friend by him to help the conversation along. It struck Kennedy that this might be one of those occasions. If so, he would send back a polite but firm refusal of the invitation. Last time he had gone to help Jimmy entertain a guest of this kind, conversation had come to a dead standstill a quarter of an hour after his arrival, the guest refusing to do anything except eat prodigiously, and reply “Yes” or “No,” as the question might demand, when spoken to. Also he had declined to stir from his seat till a quarter to seven. Kennedy was not going to be let in for another orgy of that nature if he knew it.

“Who’s with Silver?” he asked.

“Only Fenn,” said Baker.

Kennedy pondered for a moment.

“All right,” he said, at last, “tell him I’ll be round in a few minutes.”

He sat thinking the thing over after Baker had gone back to Blackburn’s with the message. He saw Silver’s game, of course. Jimmy had made no secret for some time of his disgust at the coolness between Kennedy and Fenn. Not knowing all the circumstances, he considered it absolute folly. If only he could get the two together over a quiet pot of tea, he imagined that it would not be a difficult task to act effectively as a peacemaker.

Kennedy was sorry for Jimmy. He appreciated his feelings in the matter. He would not have liked it himself if his two best friends had been at daggers drawn. Still, he could not bring himself to treat Fenn as if nothing had happened, simply to oblige Silver. There had been a time when he might have done it, but now that Fenn had started a deliberate campaign against him by giving Wren⁠—and probably, thought Kennedy, half the other fags in the house⁠—leave down town when he ought to have sent them on to him, things had gone too far. However, he could do no harm by going over to Jimmy’s to tea, even if Fenn was there. He had not looked to interview Fenn before an audience, but if that audience consisted only of Jimmy, it would not matter so much.

His advent surprised Fenn. The astute James, fancying that if he mentioned that he was expecting Kennedy to tea, Fenn would make a bolt for it, had said nothing about it.

When Kennedy arrived there was one of those awkward pauses which are so difficult to fill up in a satisfactory manner.

“Now you’re up, Fenn,” said Jimmy, as the latter rose, evidently with the intention of leaving the study, “you might as well reach down that toasting fork and make some toast.”

“I’m afraid I must be off now, Jimmy,” said Fenn.

“No you aren’t,” said Silver. “You bustle about and make yourself useful, and don’t talk rot. You’ll find your cup on that shelf over there, Kennedy. It’ll want a wipe round. Better use the tablecloth.”

There was silence in the study until tea was ready. Then Jimmy Silver spoke.

“Long time since we three had tea together,” he said, addressing the remark to the teapot.

“Kennedy’s a busy man,” said Fenn, suavely. “He’s got a house to look after.”

“And I’m going to look after it,” said Kennedy, “as you’ll find.”

Jimmy Silver put in a plaintive protest.

“I wish you two men wouldn’t talk shop,” he said. “It’s bad enough having Kay’s next door to one, without your dragging it into the conversation. How were the forwards this evening, Kennedy?”

“Not bad,” said Kennedy, shortly.

“I wonder if we shall lick Tuppenham on Saturday?”

“I don’t know,” said Kennedy; and there was silence again.

“Look here,