cool," said the Caterpillar. "The bowling's weak; I have it from
Cosmo Kinloch. They're in a precious funk."

"So am I," said the Duffer.

"But you're a bowler," said Desmond. "If I get out first ball, I shall
cut my throat."

But Caesar looked alert, cool, and neither under- nor over-confident.

"You'll cut the ball, not your throat," said the Duffer. Cutting was
Caesar's strong point.

The Caterpillar nodded, and spoke oracularly--

"My governor says he never shoots at a snipe without muttering to
himself, 'Snipe on toast.' It steadies his nerves. When you see the
ball leave the bowler's band, you say to yourself, 'Eton on toast.'"

"Your own, Caterpillar?"

"My own," said the Caterpillar, modestly. "I don't often make a joke,
but that's mine. Pass it on."

The other Harrovian about to go in beckoned to Desmond.

"Caesar won't be bowled first ball," said the Caterpillar. "He's the
sort that rises to an emergency. Can't we find a seat?"

They sat down and watched the Eton captain placing his field. Desmond
and his companion were walking slowly towards the wickets amid Harrow
cheers. The cheering was lukewarm as yet. It would have fire enough in
it presently. The Caterpillar pointed out some of the swells.

"That's old Lyburn. Hasn't missed a match since '64. Was brought here
once with a broken leg! Carried in a litter, by Jove! That fellow with
the long white beard is Lord Fawley. He made 78 _not out_ in the days of
Charlemagne."

"It was in '53," said the Duffer, who never joked on really serious
subjects; "and he made 68, not 78. He's pulling his beard. I believe
he's as nervous as I am."

Presently the innumerable voices about them were hushed; all eyes turned
in one direction. Desmond was about to take the first ball. It was
delivered moderately fast, with a slight break. Desmond played forward.

"Well played, sir! Well pla-a-ayed!"

The shout rumbled round the huge circle. The beginning and the end of a
great match are always thrilling. The second and third balls were played
like the first. John could hear Mr. Desmond saying to Warde, "He has
Hugo's style and way of standing--eh?" And Warde replied, "Yes; but he's
a finer batsman. Ah-h-h!"

The first real cheer burst like a bomb. Desmond had cut the sixth ball
to the boundary.

Over! The new bowler was a tall, thin boy with flaxen hair.

"That's Cosmo Kinloch, Fluff's brother," said John.

"I wonder they ca