A small boy, red-faced and puffing after a hard run with his message, paused at the wicket gate of the playground of a great school. He wore an anxious look, for he had been bidden to hurry; and to pick out one boy from two or three hundred seems a rather overwhelming task, especially with most of the number vigorously kicking practice footballs. He gave up the idea of plunging into the throng, sighed, drew a long breath, opened his mouth to its fullest extent, and shrilled again: There was no response, except from two youngsters near, who kindly advised him to call loudly, adding that there was no sense in whispering. The injured messenger turned a shade redder, glared, and renewed his shr…
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