"Georgie"
a kind of private asylum; Gaythorpes Hall they call it, and he got no exercise at all till his father made a fuss. They've got a covered asphalt tennis court now, but he was always too much of a sportsman to tootle about at tennis with a lot of girls. Might as well have given him a battledore or a hoop. Martin, that chap was the finest tackier I've ever seen! And as for his fielding! If he'd been all right we could have made a jolly good stand against these beggars even if they licked us. As it is—"
He groaned and words failed him.
"I'd rather cancel the match," said he earnestly. "After our record! We shall lose by at least thirty points. But the other chaps are as keen as they can be. They've too much blooming self-confidence. 'Fight a good fight for the honor of the town' sort of idea, don't you know. There's too much bally esprit-de-corps about our club, and I can't make 'em realize what a thundering good licking we're going to get."
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