fice in
Downing Street. He hails the Rev. Septimus with a genial laugh and a
hearty grasp of the hand.

"Ah, Sep, upon your word of honour, now--would you sooner be here to see
the Duffer take half a dozen wickets, or be down in Somerset, bishop of
Bath and Wells?"

"When _you_ offer me the bishopric," replied the Rev. Septimus, with a
twinkle, "I'll answer that question, my dear Charles, and not before."

"You old humbug! You're so puffed up with sinful pride that you've stuck
your topper on to your head the wrong way about."

"Bless my soul," said the Duffer's father, "so I have."

"That topper of the governor's," the Duffer remarked solemnly, "has seen
twenty-five matches at least."

John looked at no hats; his eyes were on the pitch. Another round of
cheers proclaimed that "20" had gone up. Both boys are batting steadily;
no more boundary hits; a snick here, a snack there--and then--merciful
Heavens!--Caesar has cut a curling ball "bang" into short slip's hands.

Short slip--wretched youth--muffs it! Derisive remarks from the Rev.
Septimus.

"Well caught! Well held! Tha-a-nks!"

The Caterpillar would pronounce this sort of chaff bad form in a
contemporary. He removes his hat.

"By Jove!" says he. "It's very warm."

Caesar times the next ball beautifully. It glides past point and under
the ropes.

Early as it is, the ground seems to be packed with people. Glorious
weather has allured everybody. Stand after stand is filled up. The
colour becomes kaleidoscopic. The Rev. Septimus, during the brief
interval of an over, allows his eyes to stray round the huge circle.
Upon the ground are the youth, the beauty, the rank and fashion of the
kingdom, and, best of all, his old friends. The Rev. Septimus has a
weakness, being, of course, human to the finger-tips. He calls himself a
_laudator temporis acti_. In his day, the match was less of a function.
The boys sat round upon the grass; behind them were the carriages and
coaches--you could drive on to the ground then!--and here and there, only
here and there, a tent or a small stand. _Consule Planco_--the parson
loves a Latin tag--the match was an immense picnic for Harrovians and
Etonians. And, my word, you ought to have heard the chaff when an
unlucky fielder put the ball on the floor. Or, when a batsman interposed
a pad where a bat ought to have been. Or, if a player was bowled first
ball. Or, if he swaggered as he walked, the cynosure of