was all about Doe, and
rather silly. And I wanted to think over the little fact, which
Chappy had let fall, that certain ladies called me the "Gem." I
chewed a blade of grass and ruminated. That flattering little
disclosure balanced the weight of Fillet's dislike. I wished it
could be brought to his knowledge; and I imagined conversations in
which he was told. This was the first time that it dawned upon me
that there was anything in my looks to admire. Pennybet I conceived
to be dark and handsome, Doe fair and pretty, and myself drab and
plain. But now I got up and took myself, completely thrilled, to a
mirror in the changing room to have a look at these same eyes. I was
prepared for something good. The result was that I became almost
sick with disappointment. A close examination showed them to be
quite commonplace. I could not really detect that they were blue. I
even thought they looked a little foolish. And, as I gazed at them,
they certainly turned very sad.

I strolled back to the pavilion just as a burst of applause
announced a fine drive by Doe.

"Oh, pretty stroke!" shouted Chappy, sprinkling quantities of ash.
"Pretty play! By jove, the little fool's a genius!"

"He may be a genius of some other sort," said Radley, "but he's not
a genius at cricket. Look at his diffidence in the treatment of
swift balls. He's a cricketer _made_, not born. He has imagination
and a sense of artistic effect, and a natural grace--that's all.
They'll make him a poet, perhaps, but not a cricketer."

"Don't talk such flapdoodle!" grumbled Chappy. "Look at that!"

All that Doe did then was to direct the ball with perfect ease
between Point and Short Slip and to glance quickly towards the
pavilion to see if the stroke had been noticed. The sight of him
batting there made me feel another squirmy sensation at the thought
that he was my especial friend. He had given, I recall, his grey hat
to the umpire to hold, and the wind was playing with his hair. His
shirt-sleeves were rolled up, showing arms smooth and round like a
woman's.

Just then, however, my attention was attracted by a new arrival. The
boy Freedham, having listlessly wandered across from Kensingtowe,
slouched on to the Nursery playground. He was a tall, weedy youth of
sixteen; and the unhealthiness of his growth was shown by the long,
graceless neck, the spare chest, and the thin wrists. There was a
weakness, too, at his knees which caused me to think that they had
o