bat.

Altogether the two put 85 together before Robarts was caught at point.

As they were going in to dinner Crawley had said to Saurin:

“You go in the first wicket down. You showed good form in the first innings, and it was a very unlucky ball that settled you so soon. But you will have a good chance again presently.” Which speech had the unintended effect of making Saurin more exasperated than ever. “Confound his patronising!” he said to himself; but he could not find any excuse for any audible utterance except the conventional “All right,” and he now drew on his gloves, took up his bat, and issued from the tent.

“Play careful cricket, Saurin,” said Robarts as he passed him; “the great thing is to keep Crawley at the wicket as long as we can.”

“A likely story!” he thought to himself as he strode across the turf, “to make myself a mere foil and stop-gap for that conceited brute! Not I.” Far from practising the abstinence of the other two, he had eaten as much as he could stuff and drunk all the beer he could get, and this, combined with resentment at Robarts’ words, caused him to go in for slogging just to show that he was not to be dictated to.

The first ball he got he hit as hard as he could, and well on to the ground, but it was cleverly stopped before a run could be made. The second he sent into the hands of the fielder standing at mid-wicket, who stuck to it, fast as it came, and threw it up amidst the cheers of his friends. Saurin stalked away with his duck’s egg.

Four more wickets fell before Crawley was run out, by which time he had scored 90 off his own bat, the total standing at 150. Thirty more was added before the Westonians were all out, and the score stood—first innings, 40; second, 180; total, 220, against 94. So that Hillsborough now had to make 126 to tie, and 127 to win.

It was a good match; anybody’s game. During the remainder of the afternoon Saurin behaved disgracefully. His temper had completely mastered him, and he was sulky and careless to an extent which made even Edwards ashamed for him. He let balls pass with hardly an attempt to stop them, picked them up and threw them in in a leisurely manner, which gave more than one run to the other side, and showed such indifference that he was hissed.

For every run was of importance. The fact was that Weston that year was decidedly weak in the bowling, Crawley being the only one to be depended upon, and he could not be kept at it for ever; and, though the fielding generally was good, the Hillsburians scored fast. At seven o’clock they were 100 for seven wickets, and the excitement was very great when Crawley, who had had an hour’s interval, went on once more to bowl.

His first ball was cut for five. His second took the middle stump clean. His third came back into his hands. His fourth, the nastiest of shooters, glided under the bat into the wicket. Three wickets in three consecutive balls—something like a sensational over!

The match was over, and Weston had won by 21 runs.

There could be no doubt to whom the victory was due, and Crawley was pounced upon, hoisted, and carried home in triumph amidst the most enthusiastic cheering.

“All right!” he said, colouring and laughing as they put him down; “I am glad we won, but that last ball was the most awful fluke I ever made in my life. I lost my balance as I delivered it, and nearly came down. To tell the truth, I feared it would be wide, and could hardly believe my eyes when I saw the bails off.”

One would have imagined that Saurin’s evil genius was taking part in the events of the day, and piling success upon the rival he hated in order to exasperate him to madness. His state of mind, indeed, was little short of that as he went sullenly to his tutor’s house, with the sight of Crawley, raised on his comrades’ shoulders, in his eyes, their cheers ringing in his ears, and the thoughts of Cain in his heart.

“I shall give up cricket,” he said to Edwards next day; “it’s a beastly game.”

“I don’t care for it myself,” replied his friend; “only, what is one to do?”

“Lots of things; you don’t know Slam’s. I tell you what—I’ll take you there.”

“Thank you; that will be very jolly; only don’t you think if one were caught, you know—eh?”

“We should get into a jolly row, no doubt; but there is no fear of being caught. And, as you say, if one does not play cricket, what is one to do?”

One thing which induced Saurin to relinquish the game which he had at one time practised with some hope of success, was that he shrewdly suspected that, after what occurred, he would no longer be retained in the eleven. And he was right, for at the very next meeting of the committee it was unanimously agreed that a fellow who failed so utterly to keep his temper was of no use at all, even if he were a much better player than Saurin; and this opinion was intimated to him without any squeamishness in the choice of terms. Had Weston lost the match his conduct on the occasion might have resulted in his being sent to Coventry; but success is the parent of magnanimity, and, since his lack of public spirit had not proved fatal, it was condoned. But it certainly did not increase his popularity. The whole affair was most unfortunate. Saurin was a disappointing sort of fellow. He was rather good-looking, and on ordinary occasions his manners were those of a gentleman. His abilities were certainly above the average, and his eye and hand worked together in a manner which was calculated to ensure success in all games, especially as he was fleet of foot and muscular. Thus he was always giving promise of distinguishing himself, and dying away to nothing. The explanation is that he was very vain and very indolent, and his vanity induced him to engage in different pursuits which would excite admiration, while his indolence prevented him from persevering long enough for success. Directly anything bored him he dropped it. Self-indulgence seemed to him the only true wisdom. He never resisted the whim of the moment except through fear of the consequences, and unfortunately many of his propensities were vicious.

He had taken up cricket rather warmly, and seemed less inclined to get tired of it than of most healthy and innocent diversions, and cricket kept him out of mischief; so it was very unlucky both for himself and for those over whom he had influence that his jealousy of Crawley had led him to make such an idiot of himself.