sional cricketer is poorly paid in comparison with an inferior
singer of the music-halls, although he gives twice as much pleasure as
your _lion comique_, and of a more innocent kind. But he does more than
this. He feeds and guards the flame of art; and when his joints are stiff
and his vogue is past, he goes down as groundman and instructor to a
public school, and imparts to a young generation what knowledge he can of
the high mysteries whose servant he has been: quite like the philosopher
in the _Republic_--"

"Steady on!" interposed Grayson. "How on earth will the Boy stand up to
Briggs' bowling if you put these notions in his head? He'll be
awe-struck, and begin to fidget with his right foot."

"Oh, fire ahead!" said that cheerful youth. He had possessed himself of
Prince Ranjitsinhji's book and coiled himself comfortably into a wicker
chair.--"You're only rotting, I know. And you've passed over the most
important sentence in the whole book. Listen to this: 'There are very few
newspaper readers who do not turn to the cricket column first when the
morning journal comes; who do not buy a halfpenny evening paper to find
out how many runs W.G. or Bobby Abel has made.' That's the long and short
of the matter. Verinder, which do you read first in your morning paper--
the Foreign Intelligence or the Cricket News?"

THE SECOND DIALOGUE. 1905.

A few days ago--to be precise, on Saturday the 24th of this month--my
friend Verinder reminded me of the long-past conversation. We had met by
appointment at Paddington to travel down to Windsor for the second day of
the Eton and Winchester match, taking with us (or rather, being taken by)
a youngster whom we call The Infant. The Infant, who talks little save in
the bosom of his family, and even so preserves beneath his talk that fine
reticence of judgment which most adorns the age of fifteen, not
unfrequently surprises me by his experiments in the art of living.
On this occasion, while I was engaged in the booking-office and Verinder
in scanning the shelves of Messrs. Smith's bookstall, he had found our
train, chosen our compartment, and laid out twopence in four halfpenny
papers, which he spread on the cushions by way of reserving our seats.

"But why four," I asked, "seeing there are but three of us?"

"It will give us more room," he answered simply.

He had hoped, I doubt not, by this devise to retain the whole compartment;
but the hope was