Sharpe's house secured the next two caps, and Biffen's groaned aloud.
"Whatever is old Phil about? One might think he was blind in his right eye
and straddled in his left. We'll send him a pair of gig lamps, and then
perhaps he may discover Acton--Acton, of Biffen's."

The weeks went by, and after a spirited display by Chalmers against the
Emeriti, he was given his cap, and for the first time since Biffen's was a
house they had a man in the eleven. But they gasped as Chalmers came out
of the pavilion with his blue and silver cap on his curls. "That ass
Bourne found the house at last, and then he goes and carefully spots the
wrong man. Whatever _is_ the matter with him? To pick Chalmers before
Acton! Rot!"

Over tea that night Biffen's bubbled and choked, and the other houses
began to take a lively interest in the next distribution, for this
constant passing of Acton was becoming exciting. But still--and I was glad
to see it--the school had faith in Phil; they counted on justice being
done, as it were, in the last laps. No one mentioned a word to him about
the intense curiosity and even anxiety that his odd bestowal of caps had
excited amongst them, for Phil has that way with him that can shut up a
fellow quicker than you can snap a knife if that fellow is travelling out
of bounds.

However, when Place, of Merishall's, came out of the pavilion a full-blown
member of the school eleven there was a scene. The whole body of fellows
now thought that the comedy was pretty nearly becoming a tragedy, and they
showed their feelings unmistakably. Place was cheered by Merishall's, but
not overwhelmingly, and from the other houses there was an ominous
silence. Place, as he trotted out, looked rather puzzled, and a bit