t Jack
swore that the English would be "nowhere" but for eight professional
players whom they had brought out with them. It must be explained
that our club had no professionals. We had not come to that
yet,--that a man should earn his bread by playing cricket. Lord
Marylebone and his friend had brought with them eight professional
"slaves," as our young men came to call them,--most ungraciously.
But each "slave" required as much looking after as did the masters,
and they thought a great deal more of themselves than did the
non-professionals.

Jack had in truth been attempting to pass Sir Kennington on the
bicycle track when he had upset poor Sir Lords Longstop; and,
according to his own showing, he had more than once allowed Sir
Kennington to start in advance, and had run into Little Christchurch
bicycle quay before him. This had not given rise to the best feeling,
and I feared lest there might be an absolute quarrel before the match
should have been played. "I'll punch that fellow's head some of
these days," Jack said one evening when he came back from Little
Christchurch.

"What's the matter now?" I asked.

"Impudent puppy! He thinks because he has got an unmeaning handle to
his name, that everybody is to come to his whistle. They tell me that
his father was made what they call a baronet because he set a broken
arm for one of those twenty royal dukes that England has to pay for."

"Who has had to come to his whistle now?" asked his mother.

"He went over with his steam curricle, and sent to ask Eva whether
she would not take a drive with him on the cliffs."

"She needn't have gone unless she wished it," I said.

"But she did go; and there she was with him for a couple of hours.
He's the most unmeaning upstart of a puppy I ever met. He has not
three ideas in the world. I shall tell Eva what I think about him."

The quarrel went on during the whole period of preparation, till it
seemed as though Gladstonopolis had nothing else to talk about. Eva's
name was in every one's mouth, till my wife was nearly beside herself
with anger. "A girl," said she, "shouldn't get herself talked about
in that way by every one all round. I don't suppose the man intends
to marry her."

"I can't see why he shouldn't," I replied.

"She's nothing more to him than a pretty provincial lass. What would
she be in London?"

"Why should not Mr Crasweller's daughter be as much admired in London
as here?" I answered. "Beauty is the same