mighty stroke!

But the dealer in lobs knows that the man who leaves his citadel, leaves
it, sooner or later, not to return. In the hope that Scaife, intoxicated
with triumph, will run out again, he pitches the next lob too much up--a
half-volley. Scaife smiles.

John's prediction has been fulfilled. A record has been established.
Never before in an Eton and Harrow match have two balls been hit over the
ropes in succession. The crowds have lost their self-possession. Men,
women, and children are becoming delirious. The Rev. Septimus throws his
ancient topper into the air; the Caterpillar splits a brand-new pair of
delicate grey gloves. Upon the tops of the coaches, mothers, sisters,
aunts, and cousins are cheering like Fourth-Form boys.

The Harrow first innings closed with 289 runs, Scaife carrying out his
bat for an almost flawless 126. Desmond made 72; Fluff was in for
twenty-seven minutes--a great performance for him--and was caught in the
slips after compiling a useful 17.

But the remarkable feature of the innings was the short time in which so
many runs were made--exactly three hours. The elevens went in to lunch,
as the crowd poured over the ground, laughing and chattering. This is a
delightful hour to the Rev. Septimus. He will walk to the wickets, and
wait there for his innumerable friends. It will be, "Hullo, Sep!" "By
Jove, here's dear old Sep!" "Sep, you unfriendly beast, why do you never
come to see us?" "Sep, when are you going to send that awful tile of
yours to the British Museum?" And so on.

Twenty men, at least--some of them with names known wherever the Union
Jack waves--will ask the Rev. Sep to lunch with them; but the Rev. Sep
will say, as he has said these thirty years, that he doesn't come to
Lord's to "gorge." A sandwich presently, and a glass of "fizz," if you
please; but time is precious. A tall bishop strolls up--one of the
pillars of the Church, an eloquent preacher, and an autocrat in his
diocese. Most people regard him with awe. The Rev. Sep greets him with
a scandalous slap on the back, and addresses him, the apostolic one,
as--Lamper.[2] And the Lord Bishop of Dudley says, like the others--

"Hullo, Sep! We used to think you a slogger, but you never came anywhere
near that smite of Scaife's."

"I thought his smite was coming too near me," says the Rev. Sep, with a
shrewd glance at the pavilion. "Lamper, old chap, I _am_ glad to see
your 'phiz' again."