“Lost your speed, have n’t you, Fred?” Blanchard’s tone was commiserating.
“Glass arm, sure enough,” lamented Payne.
“Is that so now!“
Bell unlimbered his long length and threw a ball so swift that Payne, getting the force of it on his bare hand, danced and shook his fingers.
“Say, just ease off a little, will you, Fred?” he asked; and then Blanchard, laughing, rose and walked away towards the School, in pursuit of his duty.
Just outside the Study gate he met a strong-looking, light-haired boy with a pleasant, freckled face; he stopped him at once.
“Hello, new kid! What’s your name?”
“Crashaw—Edward Crashaw.”
“That’s a queer name. Any relation to Crashaw at St. John’s?”
“Brother.”
“The dickens you say!” Blanchard stared at him, then seized him by the arm as if afraid he might escape, and turning shouted to the ball-players,—
