For the next three seconds you could have heard a cannonball drop. Andthat was equivalent, in the senior day-room at Seymour's, to a deadsilence. Barry stood in the middle of the room leaning on the stick onwhich he supported life, now that his ankle had been injured, andturned red and white in regular rotation, as the magnificence of thenews came home to him.

　　Then the small voice of Linton was heard.

　　"That'll be six d. I'll trouble you for, young Sammy," said Linton. Forhe had betted an even sixpence with Master Samuel Menzies that Barrywould get his first fifteen cap this term, and Barry had got it.

　　A great shout went up from every corner of the room. Barry was one ofthe most popular members of the house, and every one had been sorry forhim when his sprained ankle had apparently put him out of the runningfor the last cap.

　　"Good old Barry," said Drummond, delightedly. Barry thanked him in adazed way.

　　Every one crowded in to shake his hand. Barry thanked then all in adazed way.

　　And then the senior day-room, in spite of the fact that Milton hadreturned, gave itself up to celebrating the occasion with one of themost deafening uproars that had ever been heard even in that factory ofnoise. A babel of voices discussed the match of the afternoon, eachtrying to outshout the other. In one corner Linton was beating wildlyon a biscuit-tin with part of a broken chair. Shoeblossom was busy inthe opposite corner executing an intricate step-dance on somebodyelse's box. M'Todd had got hold of the red-hot poker, and was burninghis initials in huge letters on the seat of a chair. Every one, inshort, was enjoying himself, and it was not until an advanced hour thatcomparative quiet was restored. It was a great evening for Barry, thebest he had ever experienced.

　　Clowes did not learn the news till he saw it on the notice-board, onthe following Monday. When he saw it he whistled softly.

　　"I see you've given Barry his first," he said to Trevor, when they met.

　　"Rather sensational.""Milton and Allardyce both thought he deserved it. If he'd been playinginstead of Rand-Brown, they wouldn't have scored at all probably, andwe should have got one more try.""That's all right," said Clowes. "He deserves it right enough, and I'mjolly glad you've given it him. But things will begin to move now,don't you think? The League ought to have a word to say about thebusiness. It'll be a facer for them.""Do you remember," asked Trevor, "saying that you thought it must beRand-Brown who wrote those letters?""Yes. Well?""Well, Milton had an idea that it was Rand-Brown who ragged his study.""What made him think that?"Trevor related the Shoeblossom incident.

　　Clowes became quite excited.

　　"Then Rand-Brown must be the man," he said. "Why don't you go andtackle him? Probably he's got the bat in his study.""It's not in his study," said Trevor, "because I looked everywhere forit, and got him to turn out his pockets, too. And yet I'll swear heknows something about it. One thing struck me as a bit suspicious. Iwent straight into his study and showed him that last letter--about thebat, you know, and accused him of writing it. Now, if he hadn't been inthe business somehow, he wouldn't have understood what was meant bytheir saying 'the bat you lost'. It might have been an ordinarycricket-bat for all he knew. But he offered to let me search the study.