In the Rev. E. Taylor's house, Cotton senior, who answered to the name of
"Jim" among his familiars, and was "Bully Cotton" to his enemies--every
Amorian below the Fifth, and a good sprinkling elsewhere--and Augustus
Vernon Robert Todd, who was "Gus" to every one, sat at tea together in
Todd's room. Cotton had been one of the slain that afternoon on the Acres,
and was still in his footer clothes, plus a sweater, which almost came up
to his ears. There was a bright fire in the grate, and though Todd's room
was not decorative compared with most of the other fellows' dens, yet it
was cheerful enough. Cotton had come back from the match hungry and a
trifle bruised from a smart upset, only to find his own fire out, and
preparations for tea invisible. Having uttered dire threats against his
absent, erring fag, he moved into his friend's room, and the two clubbed
together their resources, and the result was a square meal, towards which
Cotton contributed something like 19/20, A.V.R. Todd's share being limited
to the kettle, the water, and the fire. When Cotton had satisfied his
footer appetite, he turned down his stocking and proceeded vigorously to
anoint with embrocation his damaged leg, the pungent scent of the liniment
being almost ornamental in its strength.

"How did you get that, Jim?" said Gus, surveying the brawny limb with
interest.

"Acton brought me down like a house, my boy."

"Fair?"

"Oh yes; but you've got to go down if he catches you in his swing."

"You fellows must have played beautifully to let Biffen's mob maul you to
that extent."