e Michaelmas term; Phil hoped and desired
to step into my shoes. He had one great lever to move the fellows in his
favour, he was much the best cricketer in the school and deservedly
Captain of the Eleven, and, besides that, was one of the best all-round
fellows in Sixth Form work. But Phil did not in the least hint that the
captaincy was his soul's desire; he determined to merit it, and then
leave the matter in the hands of the school. So, from the very beginning
of the term, he read hard and played hard, and he left his mark on the
class lists and the scoring-board in very unmistakable fashion.

And now Acton came like an evil genius on the scene. In a word, he had
determined that if he could in any way baulk poor Phil's ambition, he
would. If by his means he could put Phil out of the running for the
captaincy it should be done. If he could succeed, this success would
make up and to spare for his two former defeats. Therefore, warily and
cautiously, he set to work.

Acton himself was not much of a cricketer; the game was not, as it were,
second nature to him, as it was to Phil, but he was a very smart
field--cover was his position--and he could slog heavily, and often with
success. He threw himself heartily into the game, and crept rapidly up
the ladder of improvement, until Biffen's whispered that their shining
light stood a good chance of getting into the Eleven. "That is," said
Biffen's crowd, "if Bourne will run straight and give a good man his
flannels. But after the 'footer' fraud, what can one expect?" I heard
of this, and straightway told Phil.

"Oh, they need not fear. If Acton deserves his flannels, he will get
them. I've nothing whatever against his cricket."

Acton learned this, and instantly his new-found zeal for cricket
slackened considerably.

"Oh!" said he to himself, "I can't blister you there, Bourne, eh? I
can't pose as the deserving cricketer kept out of the Eleven by a
jealous cad of a captain, eh? So I'll try another tack to keep you in
evil odour, Mr. Bourne."

Acton did not turn up at the nets that night, and when Worcester noticed
this, Acton calmly sailed on his new tack.

"What's the good of sweating away at the nets, Dick? I'll not get my
flannels in any case."

"Oh yes, you will. Bourne has said he's got nothing against your
cricket."

"And you believe that, Dick?" said Acton, with a whistle of contemptuous
incredulity.

"I do," said Dick. "But you are not exactly quite the f