if he's out at the net now. Let's go and see."     

       Saunders the professional was setting up the net when they arrived. Mike put on his pads and went to the wicket, while Marjory and the dogs retired as usual to the far hedge to retrieve.     

       She was kept busy. Saunders was a good sound bowler of the M.C.C. minor match type, and there had been a time when he had worried Mike considerably, but Mike had been in the Wrykyn team for three seasons now, and each season he had advanced tremendously in his batting. He had filled out in three years. He had always had the style, and now he had the strength as well, Saunder's bowling on a true wicket seemed simple to him. It was early in the Easter holidays, but already he was beginning to find his form. Saunders, who looked on Mike as his own special invention, was delighted.     

       "If you don't be worried by being too anxious now that you're captain, Master Mike," he said, "you'll make a century every match next term."     

       "I wish I wasn't; it's a beastly responsibility."     

       Henfrey, the Wrykyn cricket captain of the previous season, was not returning next term, and Mike was to reign in his stead. He liked the prospect, but it certainly carried with it a rather awe-inspiring responsibility. At night sometimes he would lie awake, appalled by the fear of losing his form, or making a hash of things by choosing the wrong men to play for the school and leaving the right men out. It is no light thing to captain a public school at cricket.     

       As he was walking toward the house, Phyllis met him. "Oh, I've been hunting for you, Mike; Father wants you."     

       "What for?"     

       "I don't know."     

       "Where?"     

       "He's in the study. He seems ..." added Phyllis, throwing in the information by a way of a makeweight, "in a beastly temper."     

       Mike's jaw fell slightly. "I hope the dickens it's nothing to do with that bally report," was his muttered exclamation.     

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