"I want to speak to you."
"Go ahead, then."
I looked at Mr. Garnet. He understood at once.
"I'm just going to run upstairs for a second, Romney," he said. "I want my pipe. Cigarettes are bad for the soul. I sha'n't be long."
He disappeared.
"Well?" said Bob.
"Father says that if he makes fifty on Monday against the Cave he'll take me to London for the winter."
Bob lit another cigarette and threw the match out of the window.
"You needn't hurry to pack," he said.
"Don't you think father will make fifty?"
"He hasn't an earthly."
"He made twenty-five last year."
"Yes; but this year the Cave men have got a new pro. I don't suppose you have ever heard of him, but his name's Simpson—Billy Simpson. He played for Sussex all last season, and was eleventh in the first-class bowling averages. The governor may have been the dickens of a bat in his day, but I'll bet he doesn't stand up to Billy for many overs. As for getting fifty"
Words failed him. I felt like a cat. I could have scratched somebody—anybody; I did not care whom. No wonder father had made the bargain so cheerfully. He knew he could only lose by a miracle.
"Oh, Bob!" I said. My despair must have been tremendous, for it touched even Bob. He said, "Buck up!"
I said, "I won't buck up. I think everybody's horrid."
"Look here," said Bob, anxiously—I could see by his face that he thought I was going to cry—"look here, chuck playing the giddy goat and going into hysterics and that sort of thing, and I'll give you a straight tip."
"Well?"
"This man Simpson—I have it on the highest authority—is in love with your maid—what's her name?"
"Saunders?"
"Saunders. At present it's a close thing between him and a chap in the village. So far it's anybody's race. Billy leads at present, because it's summer and he's a celebrity in the cricket season. But he must pull it off before the winter or he'll be pipped, because the other Johnny plays footer and is a little tin god in these parts directly footer begins. Why don't you get Saunders to square Billy and make him bowl the governor some tosh which he can whack about?"
"Bob," I cried, "you're an angel, and I'm going to kiss you!"
"Here, I say!" protested Bob. "Break away!"
While I was kissing him Mr. Garnet came back.
"They never do that to me," I heard him murmur, plaintively.
I spoke to Saunders while she was brushing my hair.
I said, "Saunders!"
"Yes, miss."
"Er—oh, nothing."
There was a pause.
"Saunders!" I said.
"Yes, miss."
"Do you know Simpson, the cricket professional at Castle Cave?"
"Yes, miss."
"DO YOU KNOW SIMPSON, THE CRICKET PROFESSIONAL AT CASTLE CAVE?"
Her face, reflected in the glass in front of me, grew pinker. It is always rather pink.
"He is very fond of you, isn't he?"
"He says so, miss."
She simpered—visibly.
"He would do anything for you, wouldn't he?"
