The latter wandered off, wondering more than ever what could have been the object of the private gathering in Thurston's study which he had just interrupted.

"It's what I told you before," remarked Carton, when Diggory chanced to mention what had happened. "Thirsty's going to the dogs, and I believe big Fletcher's got a lot to do with it. Allingford can't interfere with them as long as they keep to themselves. I don't know what they do, but I shouldn't be surprised if there is a rare old kick-up one of these fine days."

Mischief certainly was brewing, and the "kick-up" came sooner than even Carton himself expected.

CHAPTER XII.

THE WRAXBY MATCH.

Wednesday, the twenty-fourth of July, saw the whole of Ronleigh College in a state of bustle and excitement. The near approach of the holidays was sufficient in itself to put every one in high spirits, while, in addition to this, the afternoon was to witness the chief cricket contest of the season--the annual match against Wraxby Grammar School. During the hour before dinner the ground itself was a scene of brisk activity: the school colours flew at the summit of the flagstaff; the boundary flags fluttered in the breeze; a number of willing hands, under the direction of Allingford, put a finishing touch to the pitch with the big roller, while others a.s.sisted in rigging up the two screens of white canvas in line with the wickets.

"I do hope we lick them," said little "Rats" to Jack Vance as they stood by the pavilion, watching Oaks mixing some whiting for the creases; "we _must_ somehow or other."

"Why?"

"Why? because they've beaten us now three times running; and the last time when our chaps went over to Wraxby and got licked at footer their captain asked Ally if in future we should like to play a master!

Such rot!" continued the youthful "Rats," boiling with wrath; "as if we couldn't smash them without! Look here, I'd give--I'd give sixpence if we could win!" and with this burst of patriotic enthusiasm the speaker hurried away to join Maxton, who, with an old sprung racquet in one hand and the inside of an exploded cricket-ball in the other, was calling to him from the adjoining playing field to "Come and play tip and run, and bring something that'll do for a wicket."

The feelings expressed by "Rats" as regards the result of the match were shared by the whole school, and by none more so than the members of the Third Form.

"The Happy Family" turned up to a man, and encamped _en ma.s.se_ upon the turf within twenty yards of the pavilion. Bibbs was the last to arrive on the scene of action, and did so with a bag of sweets in one hand, a book in the other, and a piece of paper, pinned by some joker to the tail of his coat, bearing the legend, "Please to kick me"--a request which was immediately responded to in a most hearty and generous fashion by all present.

Kicking the unfortunate Bibbs afforded every one such exquisite enjoyment that an effort was made to prolong the pastime by forcible attempts to fasten the placard on to other members of the company, and a general _melee_, would have followed if the attention of the combatants had not been attracted in another direction. Ronleigh having won the toss and elected to go in first, the Wraxby men strolled out of the pavilion to take the field.

They were a likely-looking lot of fellows--the faded flannel caps and careless way in which they sauntered towards the pitch proclaiming the fact that each one was a veteran player.

"That chap with the wicket-keeping gloves in his hand is Partridge, their captain," said Carton; "and that fellow who's putting out the single stump to bowl at is Austin. He does put them in to some tune; you can hardly see the ball, it's so swift."

There was a faint _clang_ from the pitch.

"See that!" cried Fletcher junior: "that chap Austin's knocked that single stump out of the ground first ball. My eye, he'll make our fellows sit up, I'll bet."

"No, he won't," cried "Rats" excitedly. "Old Ally'll knock him into a c.o.c.ked hat. He'll soon break his back," added the speaker complaisantly. "Hullo! men in--Parkes and Rowland."

There is something in the short s.p.a.ce of time preceding the first _clack_ of the bat at a cricket match which rivals in interest even that exciting moment at football when the centre forward stands hovering over the ball waiting for the whistle to give the signal for the contest to commence.

The noisy clatter of "The Happy Family" ceases as the crowd of boys, ranged all down the sides of the field, turn to watch the opening of the game.

It is an ideal day for cricket, with a fresh breeze blowing, just sufficient to temper the hot afternoon sunshine and cause a flutter of cricket-shirts and boundary flags. Rowland takes centre, twists the handle of his bat round and round in his hands, and is heard amid the general hush to say, "No, no trial." Austin glances round at the motionless figures of his comrades, signals to _long-on_ to stand a little deeper, and then delivers the ball. With an easy and graceful forward stroke, the batsman returns it sharply in the direction of the opposite wicket, and an almost imperceptible movement, like the releasing of a spring, takes place among the fielders. So begins the battle.

"Twenty up!" had just been called from the pavilion when a sharp catch in the slips disposed of Parkes.

"Never mind!" cried "Rats." "Here comes old Ally; he'll make them trot round a bit!"

The captain commenced his innings with a heart-warming leg hit, which sent the ball to the boundary, a wave of legs and arms marking its track as the spectators, with a joyous yell, rolled over one another to escape being hit.

For some time cheer followed cheer, and "The Happy Family" clapped until their hands smarted; then suddenly there arose a prolonged "_Oh, oh!_"

from all the field.

"Hullo! what's the matter?" asked Bibbs, looking up from the book he was reading.

"What's the matter?" shouted Maxton wrathfully, s.n.a.t.c.hing away the volume and banging Bibbs on the head with it. "Why don't you watch the game? Old Ally's bowled off his pads!"

It was only too true: the captain's wicket was down, and "The Happy Family," after a simultaneous e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of "_Blow it!_" tore up stalks of gra.s.s, and began to chew them with a stern expression on their faces.

This disaster seemed but the forerunner of others. Redfern, the next man, had hardly taken his place at the wicket when a sharp _click_, the glitter of bails twirling in the air, and a Wraxby shout of "Well bowled!" announced his fate; while ten minutes later Rowland, one of the mainstays of the home team, was caught in a most provoking manner at _cover-point_.

"Oh, bother it all!" sighed "Rats;" "this is nothing but a procession."

"Now, Oaks, old chap, do your best for us!" cried Allingford.

"All right," returned the other, laughing, as he paused for a moment outside the pavilion to fasten the strap of his batting-glove; "I'm going to make runs this journey, or die in the attempt."

Oaks was undoubtedly a regular Briton, just the sort of fellow to turn the fortunes of a losing game. He walked up to the wicket as coolly as though it were enclosed within a practice net, patted down the ground with the flat of his bat in a manner which seemed to imply that he had "come to stay," and then proceeded to hit three twos in his first "over."

This dashing commencement was but the prelude to a brilliant bit of rapid scoring: twos and threes followed each other in quick succession.

Allingford shouted, the crowd roared, while "The Happy Family"

gambolled about on one another's chests and stomachs, and squealed with delight. Like the poet's brook, Oaks might have exclaimed, "Men may come, and men may go, but I go on for ever." When Wraxby changed the bowling, he welcomed the new-comer by sending the first ball into the next field, and continued to cut and drive in such a gallant manner that even Bibbs, standing up to get the full use of his lungs, shouted, "Go 'long!" and "Well hit!" until his face was the colour of a poppy.

"I say!" exclaimed Carton, as the eighth wicket fell, "I wish one of these next two chaps would hang on a bit, and give Oaks a chance of getting a few more; it must be nearly eighty up."

"Thurston, you're in!" came from the scorer.

The boy named was sitting by himself, on the end of a form close to the telegraph, moodily sc.r.a.ping up the ground with the spikes of his cricket-shoes. He knew that most of his comrades in the eleven would give him the cold shoulder, and so did not mingle with them inside the pavilion. He rose, and prepared to obey the summons.

"Let's give him a cheer," said "Rats;" "he may do something.--Go it, Thurston! Sit tight, and keep the pot boiling!"

The big fellow turned his head in the direction of "The Happy Family,"

and with something of the old good-humoured smile, which had seldom of late been seen upon his face, answered: "All right, my boy, you see if I don't."

"Jolly fellow old Thirsty," remarked "Rats," swelling with pride at this friendly recognition. "He can play when he likes, but he hasn't troubled to practise much of late. He used always--Phew! my eye, what an awful crack!"

A terrifically swift ball from Austin had risen suddenly from the hard ground. Thurston had no time to avoid it, but turning away his face, received the blow on the back of his head. He dropped his bat, staggered away from the wicket, and fell forward on his knees.

To suffer for the cause of the school in a cricket or football match was a thing which, like charity, "covered a mult.i.tude of sins." Allingford hurried out of the pavilion and ran towards the pitch, while Partridge and a few more of the "Wraxby men gathered round their wounded opponent and helped him to his feet.

"You'd better come out, Thurston," said the Ronleigh captain; "I'll send the next man in."

"No, I'll go on," replied the other, in rather a shaky voice; "I shall be all right in a minute."

It requires something more than ordinary pluck for a batsman to stand up to fast bowling and show good form after having been badly hit. For a time a great deal of determination, and the exercise of a considerable amount of will power, are necessary to conquer the natural inclination to shrink from a possible repet.i.tion of the injury; and those who watched the dogged manner in which Thurston continued to defend his wicket, being themselves practical cricketers, rewarded him with loud shouts of encouragement and praise.

Oaks piled on the score with unflagging energy, while the careful play of his companion defied all attempts of the Wraxby bowlers to dissolve the partnership.

"Bravo, 'Thirsty!'" shouted the spectators. "Go 'long'--and another!"