his field. Desmond
and his companion were walking slowly towards the wickets amid Harrow
cheers. The cheering was lukewarm as yet. It would have fire enough in
it presently. The Caterpillar pointed out some of the swells.

"That's old Lyburn. Hasn't missed a match since '64. Was brought here
once with a broken leg! Carried in a litter, by Jove! That fellow with
the long, white beard is Lord Fawley. He made 78 _not out_ in the days
of Charlemagne."

"It was in '53," said the Duffer, who never joked on really serious
subjects; "and he made 68, not 78. He's pulling his beard. I believe
he's as nervous as I am."

Presently the innumerable voices about them were hushed; all eyes turned
in one direction. Desmond was about to take the first ball. It was
delivered moderately fast, with a slight break. Desmond played forward.

"Well played, sir! Well pla-a-ayed!"

The shout rumbled round the huge circle. The beginning and the end of a
great match are always thrilling. The second and third balls were played
like the first. John could hear Mr. Desmond saying to Warde, "He has
Hugo's style and way of standing--eh?" And Warde replied, "Yes; but he's
a finer batsman. Ah-h-h!"

The first real cheer burst like a bomb. Desmond had cut the sixth ball
to the boundary.

Over! The new bowler was a tall, thin boy with flaxen hair.

"That's Cosmo Kinloch, Fluff's brother," said John. "I wonder they can't
do better than that. Even I knocked him all over the shop at White
Ladies last summer."

"He's come on, they tell me," said the Caterpillar. "Good Lord, he
nearly had him first ball."

Fluff's brother bowled slows of a good length, with an awkward break
from the off to the leg.

"Teasers," said the Caterpillar, critically. "Hullo! No, my young
friend, that may do well enough in Shropshire, not here."

A ball breaking sharply from the off had struck the batsman's pad; he
had stepped in front of his wicket to cut it. Country umpires are often
beguiled by bowlers into giving wrong decisions in such cases; not so
your London expert. Cosmo Kinloch appealed--in vain.

"He'll send a short one down now," said John. "You see."

And, sure enough, a long hop came to the off, curling inwards after it
pitched. The Eton captain had nearly all his men on the off side. The
Harrovian pulled the ball right round to the boundary.

"Well hit!"

"Well pulled!"

"Two 4's; that's a good beginning," said the Duffer.

A couple of singles follo