as still
treacherous. The fast bowler sent down a straight one. It shot under
Scaife's bat and spread-eagled his stumps.

The wicket-keeper knows what the Harrow captain said, but it does not
bear repeating. Every eye was on his scowling, furious face as he
returned to the pavilion; and the Rev. Septimus scowled also, because he
had always maintained that any Harrovian could accept defeat like a
gentleman. Upon the other side of the ground the Caterpillar was saying
to his father, "I always said he was hairy at the heel."

It was admitted afterwards that the Duffer's performance was the one
really bright spot in Harrow's second innings. Being a bowler, he went
in last but one. It happened that Fluff's brother was in possession of
the ball. It will never be known why the Duffer chose to treat Cosmo
Kinloch's balls with utter scorn and contempt. The Duffer was tall,
strong, and a terrific slogger. Nobody expected him to make a run, but
he made twenty in one over--all boundary hits. When he left the wickets
he had added thirty-eight to the score, and wouldn't have changed places
with an emperor. The Rev. Septimus followed him into the room where the
players change.

"My dear boy," he said, "I've never been able to give you a gold watch,
but you must take mine; here it is, and--and God bless you!"

But the Duffer swore stoutly that he preferred his own Waterbury.

Eton went in to make 211 runs in four hours, upon a wicket almost as
sound as it had been upon the Friday. Scaife put the Duffer on to bowl.
The Demon had belief in luck.

"It's your day, Duffer," he said. "Pitch 'em up."

The Duffer, to his sire's exuberant satisfaction, "pitched 'em up" so
successfully that he took four wickets for 33. Four out of five! The
other bowlers, however, being not so successful, Eton accumulated a
hundred runs. The captains had agreed to draw stumps at 7.30. To win,
therefore, the Plain must make another hundred in two hours; and three of
their crack batsmen were out.

After tea an amazing change took place in the temper of the spectators.
Conviction seized them that the finish was likely to be close and
thrilling; that the one thing worth undivided attention was taking place
in the middle of the ground. As the minutes passed, a curious silence
fell upon the crowd, broken only by the cheers of the rival schools. The
boys, old and young alike, were watching every ball, every stroke. The
Eton captain was