It is stated that the third innings of the day opened like this:  Honion started on a longer run than usual, as if to terrify this Radley fellow.  The latter, so an enormous number declared, though I contend they were mistaken, started to run at the same time as the bowler, and, meeting the ball at full-pitch, smote it for six.  The jubilant expectations of the crowd, always as sensitive as the Stock Exchange, fluctuated.  The second ball was square-cut more quietly for four.  The third was driven high over the bowler’s head and travelled to the boundary-rope.  Honion placed a man at the spot where the ball passed the rope, and sent down a similar delivery.  Radley pulled it, as a great laugh went up, to the very spot from which the fieldsman had been removed.  Eighteen in four balls!  The spirits of the crowd drooped.

Penny, at his place with Doe, began to sulk, saying he was sick of it all, and wished he hadn’t come.

“Oh, rot,” said Doe, “they haven’t put our Rupert, the dark horse, on yet.  I’m afraid all that’s rotten in me is wanting him to be a failure.  I can’t help it, and I’m trying to hope he’ll come off.  If he does, I’ll bellow!  Over.  White’s going to bowl now.”

The ground apparently favoured the slow bowler, for the first wicket fell to White’s second ball.  But the victim, sad to tell, was not Radley.

Hush—­oh, hush.  The head master was coming out to partner Radley!  And, considering the silence of respect with which he was greeted, I think Salome scarcely behaved becomingly.  He hit an undignified boundary for four.

“Ee, bless me, my man!” whispered the wits.

But Salome, ignorant of this mild flippancy, actually undertook to run a vulgar five for an overthrow:  and by like methods succeeded in amassing a score of runs in a dozen minutes.

Meanwhile, Radley, who from the beginning had taken his life in his hands, was flogging the bowling.  He and Salome quickly added fifty to the Masters’ total.

But Salome’s bright young life was destined to be curtailed.  A straight, swift ball from Honion he stopped with his instep, and promptly obeyed two laws which operate in such circumstances:  the one compelling him to execute a pleasing dance and rub the injured bone; and the other involving his return to the pavilion (l.b.w.) in favour of the succeeding batsman.

At this interesting development Penny bobbed up and down in his seat with glee.  “Ee, bless me!  Ee, hang me!  Ee, curse me!” he chirruped.  “He’s bust the bone.  He’ll never walk again.  Probably mortification will set in, and he’ll have his foot off.  Next man in, please.  Oh, I never enjoyed anything so much in my life.”

The following two wickets were shared by Honion and White, and the score stood at 90 for four, when the school chaplain approached the wicket.  This reverend gentleman walked to his place with zealous rapidity, and proceeded to propagate the gospel with some excellent hits to leg.  Three such yielded him nine runs, and at the end of the over he found himself facing Honion’s bowling.  The temporary dismay of the crowd disappeared.  Honion, it was conjectured, would soon send the parson indoors to evensong.  But the conjecture was faulty.  Honion instead was sent for a two, a boundary, and a single.