n Mike on his departure
should become a sovereign. (This, it may be mentioned as an
interesting biographical fact, was the only occasion in his life
on which Mike earned money at the rate of fifteen shillings a
half-minute.)

"Swear you won't tell him. He'd be most frightfully sick if he knew."

"I won't tell him."

Conversation dwindled to vanishing-point. Uncle John smoked on in
weighty silence, while Mike, staring up at the blue sky through the
branches of the willow, let his mind wander to Geddington, where his
fate was even now being sealed. How had the school got on? What had
Bob done? If he made about twenty, would they give him his cap?
Supposing....

A faint snore from Uncle John broke in on his meditations. Then there
was a clatter as a briar pipe dropped on to the floor of the boat, and
his uncle sat up, gaping.

"Jove, I was nearly asleep. What's the time? Just on six? Didn't know
it was so late."

"I ought to be getting back soon, I think. Lock-up's at half-past."

"Up with the anchor, then. You can tackle that rope with two hands
now, eh? We are not observed. Don't fall overboard. I'm going to shove
her off."

"There'll be another telegram, I should think," said Mike, as they
reached the school gates.

"Shall we go and look?"

They walked to the shop.

A second piece of grey paper had been pinned up under the first. Mike
pushed his way through the crowd. It was a longer message this time.

It ran as follows:

"Geddington 247 (Burgess six wickets, Neville-Smith four).
Wrykyn 270 for nine (Berridge 86, Marsh 58, Jackson 48)."

Mike worked his way back through the throng, and rejoined his uncle.

"Well?" said Uncle John.

"We won."

He paused for a moment.

"Bob made forty-eight," he added carelessly.

Uncle John felt in his pocket, and silently slid a sovereign into
Mike's hand.

It was the only possible reply.

CHAPTER XVII

ANOTHER VACANCY

Wyatt got back late that night, arriving at the dormitory as Mike was
going to bed.

"By Jove, I'm done," he said. "It was simply baking at Geddington. And
I came back in a carriage with Neville-Smith and Ellerby, and they
ragged the whole time. I wanted to go to sleep, only they wouldn't let
me. Old Smith was awfully bucked because he'd taken four wickets. I
should think he'd go off his nut if he took eight ever. He was singing
comic songs when he wasn't trying to put Ellerby under the seat. How's
your wrist?"

"Oh, b