"With reference to our last communication," ran the letter--the writerevidently believed in the commercial style--"it may interest you toknow that the bat you lost by the statue on the night of the 26th ofJanuary has come into our possession. _We observe that Barry is stillplaying for the first fifteen._""And will jolly well continue to," muttered Trevor, crumpling the paperviciously into a ball.

　　He went on writing the names for the Ripton match. The last name on thelist was Barry's.

　　Then he sat back in his chair, and began to wrestle with this newdevelopment. Barry must play. That was certain. All the bluff in theworld was not going to keep him from playing the best man at his disposalin the Ripton match. He himself did not count. It was the school he hadto think of. This being so, what was likely to happen? Though nothingwas said on the point, he felt certain that if he persisted in ignoringthe League, that bat would find its way somehow--by devious routes,possibly--to the headmaster or some one else in authority. And thenthere would be questions--awkward questions--and things would beginto come out. Then a fresh point struck him, which was, that whatevermight happen would affect, not himself, but O'Hara. This made it rathermore of a problem how to act. Personally, he was one of those doggedcharacters who can put up with almost anything themselves. If this hadbeen his affair, he would have gone on his way without hesitating.

　　Evidently the writer of the letter was under the impression that hehad been the hero (or villain) of the statue escapade.

　　If everything came out it did not require any great effort of prophecyto predict what the result would be. O'Hara would go. Promptly. Hewould receive his marching orders within ten minutes of the discoveryof what he had done. He would be expelled twice over, so to speak, oncefor breaking out at night--one of the most heinous offences in theschool code--and once for tarring the statue. Anything that gave theschool a bad name in the town was a crime in the eyes of the powers,and this was such a particularly flagrant case. Yes, there was no doubtof that. O'Hara would take the first train home without waiting to packup. Trevor knew his people well, and he could imagine their feelingswhen the prodigal strolled into their midst--an old Wrykinian _malgrelui_. As the philosopher said of falling off a ladder, it is not thefalling that matters: it is the sudden stopping at the other end. It isnot the being expelled that is so peculiarly objectionable: it is thesudden homecoming. With this gloomy vision before him, Trevor almostwavered. But the thought that the selection of the team had nothingwhatever to do with his personal feelings strengthened him. He wassimply a machine, devised to select the fifteen best men in the schoolto meet Ripton. In his official capacity of football captain he was notsupposed to have any feelings. However, he yielded in so far that hewent to Clowes to ask his opinion.