on; "the wicket-keeper has no running
to do, and, besides, I rather enjoy a game in which there is nothing to
lose, no anxiety or anything. It is a peaceful end to a turgid
career.... Oh, well hit!"

Bray had just lifted a length ball off the middle stump over short-leg's
head.

"That's the sort of cricket I like," said Gordon; "a splendid contempt
for all laws and regulations. Heavens! there he goes again!"

A lucky snick flew over the slips to the boundary.

"This is something like," said Foster, and prepared to enjoy himself.

And certainly Bray's cricket was entertaining. He treated every ball the
same; he stepped straight down the pitch with his left foot, raised his
bat in the direction of point and then, as the ball was bowled, he
pivoted himself violently on his left foot and, going through a complete
half-circle, finished, facing the wicket-keeper, with both feet outside
the crease, but his bat well over the line. The chief attraction of this
gymnastic feat was the unexpectedness of it all. No one knew where the
ball would go if it was hit. Once when he timed his shot a little late
he caught the ball just as it was passing him and drove it flying past
the wicket-keeper's head to where long-stop would have been. The
fielding side was always glad to see Bray's back, and it usually did not
have to wait long. But to-day he bore a charmed life. He was missed at
point once, twice he gave a chance of being stumped, the ball shaved his
wickets times innumerable. But nearly every other ball he managed to hit
somewhere. In the pavilion the School House rocked with laughter.

At the other end Davenham poked about scoring singles here and there.
The score crept up. Amid cheers in which laughter was blended, the fifty
went up. Then Bray, in a particularly gallant effort to steer a ball
well outside the off stump round to short-leg, hit, all three wickets
flying out of the ground. It was a suitable end to an unusual innings.

He received a royal welcome in the pavilion.

"Bray, my son," said Gordon, "you are a sportsman. Come to the tuck-shop
and have a drink. Nellie, mix this gentleman an ice and a lemonade, and
put it down to my account. Thank you. Ah, there's Collins. Good luck,
Collins; keep your head."

Two minutes later Collins returned to the pavilion with a downcast face.

"The damned thing broke," he said, as if he considered breaks illegal in
House matches.

The rest of the side played in the usual ligh