he next ball
he swept round to the leg boundary. And that was the end of Marsh. He
saw himself scoring at the rate of twenty-four an over. Off the last
ball he was stumped by several feet, having done himself credit by
scoring seventy.

The long stand was followed, as usual, by a series of disasters.
Marsh's wicket had fallen at a hundred and eighty. Ellerby left at a
hundred and eighty-six. By the time the scoring-board registered two
hundred, five wickets were down, three of them victims to the lobs.
Morris was still in at one end. He had refused to be tempted. He was
jogging on steadily to his century.

Bob Jackson went in next, with instructions to keep his eye on the
lob-man.

For a time things went well. Saunders, who had gone on to bowl again
after a rest, seemed to give Morris no trouble, and Bob put him
through the slips with apparent ease. Twenty runs were added, when the
lob-bowler once more got in his deadly work. Bob, letting alone a ball
wide of the off-stump under the impression that it was going to break
away, was disagreeably surprised to find it break in instead, and hit
the wicket. The bowler smiled sadly, as if he hated to have to do
these things.

Mike's heart jumped as he saw the bails go. It was his turn next.

"Two hundred and twenty-nine," said Burgess, "and it's ten past six.
No good trying for the runs now. Stick in," he added to Mike. "That's
all you've got to do."

All!... Mike felt as if he was being strangled. His heart was racing
like the engines of a motor. He knew his teeth were chattering. He
wished he could stop them. What a time Bob was taking to get back to
the pavilion! He wanted to rush out, and get the thing over.

At last he arrived, and Mike, fumbling at a glove, tottered out into
the sunshine. He heard miles and miles away a sound of clapping, and a
thin, shrill noise as if somebody were screaming in the distance. As a
matter of fact, several members of his form and of the junior day-room
at Wain's nearly burst themselves at that moment.

At the wickets, he felt better. Bob had fallen to the last ball of the
over, and Morris, standing ready for Saunders's delivery, looked so
calm and certain of himself that it was impossible to feel entirely
without hope and self-confidence. Mike knew that Morris had made
ninety-eight, and he supposed that Morris knew that he was very near
his century; yet he seemed to be absolutely undisturbed. Mike drew
courage from his attitude.