xed himself upon me as an invaluable acquisition,
when he found I had actually once played in a match against Marylebone.
(I did not tell him that the total score of my innings was "_one_.")
Would I, then, at once take the drilling of as many recruits as he could
get together? And would Mr Willingham and Mr Gordon, who "used to play
at school," get up their practice again? (It wanted about a fortnight to
the races.) The result of this, and sundry other interviews, was, that
Branling at length found a vent for the _vis inertiae_ in putting us all,
with the exception of Mr Sydney Dawson, whom he declared to be so stiff
in the back that he had no hope of him, into training for a four-oar;
and the surgeon and myself set off in his gig for B----, to purchase
materials for cricket.

It is true that our respected tutor did look more than usually grave,
and shook his head with a meaning almost as voluminous as Lord
Burleigh's, when informed of our new line of study. Rowing he declared
to be a most absurd expenditure of time and strength; he never could see
the fun of men breaking blood-vessels, and getting plucked for their
degree, for the honour of "the Trinity Boat." But the cricket touched
him on the raw. He was an old Etonian, and had in his time been
a good player; and was now as active as any stout gentleman of
seven-and-thirty, who had been twelve years a steady admirer of bursary
dinners and common-room port. So, after some decent scruples on his
part, and some well-timed compliments touching his physical abilities on
ours (he was much vainer of the muscle of his arm than of his high
reputation as a scholar), we succeeded in drawing from him a sort of
promise, that if we were so foolish as to get up a match, he would try
whether he had forgot all about bowling.

For the next fortnight, therefore, we had occupation enough cut out
for us. Branling was unmerciful in his practice on the river; and
considering that two of us had never pulled an oar but in the slowest
of "Torpids," we improved surprisingly under his tuition. The cricket,
too, was quite a new era in our existence. Dawson (we told him that the
"Sydney" must be kept for Sundays) was a perfect fund of amusement in
his zealous practice. He knew as much about the matter as a cow might,
and was rather less active. But if perseverance could have made a
cricketer, he would have turned out a first-rate one. Not content with
two or three hours of it every fine evening,