and point retreat a
few yards. The ball that took the first wicket was the last of an over.
Desmond has to receive the attack of the new bowler.

The thick-set Etonian, having arranged the off side to his satisfaction,
prepares to take a long run. He holds the ball in the left hand, runs
sideways at great speed, changes the ball from the left hand to the
right at the last moment, and seems to hurl both it and himself at the
batsman.

"Greased lightning!" says John.

A dry summer had made the pitch rather fiery. The ball, short-pitched,
whizzes just over Caesar's head. A second and a third seem to graze his
cap. Murmurs are heard. Is the Eton bowler trying to kill or maim his
antagonist? Is he deliberately endeavouring to establish a paralysing
"funk"?

But the fourth ball is a "fizzer"--the right length, a bailer,
terrifically fast, but just off the wicket. Desmond snicks it between
short slip and third man; it goes to the boundary.

"That's what Caesar likes," says the Duffer. "He can cut behind the
wicket till the cows come home."

"Cut--and come again," says the Caterpillar.

The fifth ball is played forward for a risky single. The Rev. Septimus
forgets that times have changed. And if they have, what of it? He
hasn't. His deep, vibrant voice rolls across the lawn right up to the
batsman--

"Steady there! Steady!"

And now the new-comer has to take the last ball of the over--his first.
Alas and alack! The sixth ball is dead on to the middle stump. The
Harrovian plays forward. Man alive, you ought to have played back to
that! The ball grazes the top edge of the bat's blade and flies straight
into the welcoming hands of the wicket-keeper.

Two wickets for 33.

Breathless suspense, broken by tumultuous cheers as Scaife strides on to
the ground. His bat is under his arm; he is drawing on his gloves.
Thousands of men and as many women are staring at his splendid face and
figure.

"What a mover!" murmurs the Rev. Septimus.

Scaife strides on. Upon his face is the expression John knows so well
and fears so much--the consciousness of power, the stern determination
to be first, to shatter previous records. John can predict--and does so
with absolute certainty--what will happen. For six overs the Demon will
treat every ball--good, bad, and indifferent--with the most
distinguished consideration. And then, when his "eye" is in, he will
give the Etonians such leather-hunting as they never had before.

After a