said Mike.

"The list isn't up yet. We'll nip across to Barnes' study, and make
him alter it."

They dashed out of the room. From down the passage Mike heard yells of
"_Barnes_!" the closing of a door, and a murmur of excited
conversation. Then footsteps returning down the passage.

Barnes appeared, on his face the look of one who has seen visions.

"I say," he said, "is it true? Or is Stone rotting? About Wrykyn, I
mean."

"Yes, I was in the team."

Barnes was an enthusiastic cricketer. He studied his _Wisden_,
and he had an immense respect for Wrykyn cricket.

"Are you the M. Jackson, then, who had an average of fifty-one point
nought three last year?"

[Illustration: "ARE YOU THE M. JACKSON, THEN, WHO HAD AN AVERAGE OF
FIFTY-ONE POINT NOUGHT THREE LAST YEAR?"]

"Yes."

Barnes's manner became like that of a curate talking to a bishop.

"I say," he said, "then--er--will you play against Downing's to-morrow?"

"Rather," said Mike. "Thanks awfully. Have some tea?"

CHAPTER XL

THE MATCH WITH DOWNING'S

It is the curious instinct which prompts most people to rub a thing in
that makes the lot of the average convert an unhappy one. Only the
very self-controlled can refrain from improving the occasion and
scoring off the convert. Most leap at the opportunity.

It was so in Mike's case. Mike was not a genuine convert, but to Mr.
Downing he had the outward aspect of one. When you have been
impressing upon a non-cricketing boy for nearly a month that
(_a_) the school is above all a keen school, (_b_) that all
members of it should play cricket, and (_c_) that by not playing
cricket he is ruining his chances in this world and imperilling them
in the next; and when, quite unexpectedly, you come upon this boy
dressed in cricket flannels, wearing cricket boots and carrying a
cricket bag, it seems only natural to assume that you have converted
him, that the seeds of your eloquence have fallen on fruitful soil and
sprouted.

Mr. Downing assumed it.

He was walking to the field with Adair and another member of his team
when he came upon Mike.

"What!" he cried. "Our Jackson clad in suit of mail and armed for the
fray!"

This was Mr. Downing's No. 2 manner--the playful.

"This is indeed Saul among the prophets. Why this sudden enthusiasm
for a game which I understood that you despised? Are our opponents so
reduced?"

Psmith, who was with Mike, took charge of the affair with a languid
grace which h