"Oh, yes," he said. "Yes. Yes."
He paused for a moment, then added, as if he had had an inspiration, "Yes."
"Yes?" I said.
"Oh, yes," he replied, brightly. "Yes."
Our conversation was getting quite brisk and sparkling.
"You're captain of Oxford, aren't you?" I said.
"Oh, yes," he replied.
"I'm very fond of cricket," I said, "but I don't understand football. I suppose it's a very good game?"
"Oh, yes. Yes."
"I have a brother who's a very good player," I went on.
"Yes?"
"Yes. He's at Oxford, too. At Magdalen."
"Yes?"
"Are you at Magdalen?"
"Trinity."
"Do you know my brother?"
I saw he hadn't heard my name when we had been introduced, so I added, "Romney."
"I don't think I know any Romney. But I don't know many Magdalen men."
"I thought you might, because he told me you were probably going to put him into the Oxford team. I do hope you will."
Mr. Hook, who had been getting almost at home and at his ease, I believe, suddenly looked pink and scared again. I heard him whisper, "Good Lord!"
"Please put him in," I went on, feeling like Bob's guardian angel. "I'm sure he's much better than anybody else, and we should be so pleased."
"You would be so pleased," he repeated, mechanically.
"Awfully pleased," I said. "I couldn't tell you how grateful. And it would make such a lot of difference to Bob. I can't tell you why, but it would."
"Oh, it would?" said he.
"A tremendous lot. You won't forget the name, will you? Romney. I'll write it down for you on your programme. R. Romney, Magdalen College. You will put him in, won't you? I shall be too grateful for anything. And father"
"I think this is ours?" said a voice.
My partner for the next dance was standing before me. In the ball-room they were just beginning the Eton boating-song. I heard Mr. Hook give a great sigh. It may have been sorrow, or it may have been relief.
About a week after this father said "Halloa!" as he was reading the paper at breakfast. "They're playing Bob at half for Oxford, Joan," he said, "against Wolverhampton Wanderers."
"Oh, father!" I said; "are they really?"
The influence of the good woman had begun to work already.
"Instead of Welby-Smith, apparently. I suppose they had to make some changes after their poor show against the Casuals. Well, I hope Bob will stay in now he's got there."
"You'd be pleased if he got his Blue, wouldn't you, father?"
"Yes, my dear, I should."
I thought of writing to Mr. Hook to thank him, but decided not to. It was best to let well alone.
I got a letter from Bob a fortnight later saying that he was still in the team, though he had not been playing very well. He himself, he said, had rather fancied he would have been left out after the Old Malvernians' match, and he wouldn't have complained, because he had played badly; but for some reason they stuck to him, and if he didn't do anything particularly awful in the next few matches, he said, he was practically a certainty for Queen's Club.
"What's Queen's Club?" I asked father.
"It's where the 'Varsity match is played. We must go and see it if Bob gets his Blue. Or in any case."
Bob did get his Blue. I felt quite a thrill when I thought of what Mr. Hook had suffered for my sake. Because, you see, there were lots of people who thought Bob wasn't good enough to be in the team. Father read me a bit out of a sporting paper in which the man who wrote it compared the two teams and said that "the weak spot in the Oxford side is undoubtedly Romney," and a lot of horrid things about his not feeding his forwards properly. I said, "I'm sure that isn't true. Bob's always giving dinners to people. In fact, that's the very reason why"
I stopped.
"Why what?" said father.
"Why he's so hard up, father, dear. He is, you know. It's because of his twenty-first birthday, he said."
"I shouldn't wonder, my dear. I remember my own twenty-first birthday celebrations, and I don't suppose things have altered much since my time. You must tell Bob to come to me if he is in difficulties. We mustn't be hard on a man who's playing in the 'Varsity match, eh, my dear?"
