"Who sent you?"
"Goose."
"How many of them are out?"
"Seven when I left."
"How many runs?"
"Hundred and sixty just gone up."
"It hadn't! Who's been getting them?"
"Devereux, principally."
The fag from another house always said that Rutter lit up at this as though the runs were already made, and then that he gave the most extraordinary laugh, but suddenly asked if Devereux was out.
"And when I told him he wasn't," said the fag, "he simply sent me flying out of his way, and by the time I got into the street he was almost out of sight at the other end!"
Certainly they were the only two creatures connected with the school who were to be seen about the town at half-past four that Saturday afternoon; and half the town itself seemed glued to those palings affected by Jan's flyman; and on the ground every available boy in the school, every master except Haigh, and every single master's lady, watched the game without a word about any other topic under the sun. Even the tea-tent, a great feature of the festival, under the auspices of Miss Heriot and other ladies, was deserted alike by all parties to its usually popular entertainment.
Evan was still in, said to have made over 70, and to be playing the innings of his life, the innings of the season for the school. But another wicket must have fallen soon after the small fag fled for Jan, and Chilton who had gone in was not shaping with conspicuous confidence. Evan looked, however, as though he had enough for two, from the one glimpse Jan had of his heated but
