He scoured his memory to think of anything that might savour of credit.

There was the New Boys' Race.

He had won that, but that was all, and it didn't count.

He had thrashed Culver and been patted on the back for it, but that hadn't got him on to the list.
And, except for these two exploits, what good had he done?
Nay, hadn't he done harm instead of good?
He had dragged Heathcote after him, and Heathcote and he had dragged Coote; and here they were all left out in the cold.
Dick remembered the Ghost's letter, and could have kicked himself for being so slow to take its advice.
"We're out of it," said Georgie, dismally, as the three walked down the shady side of the fields.

"I did think we might have scraped in somehow." "Whatever could you have scraped in for ?" asked Dick sharply.