And that night, before he fell asleep, Roland thought wistfully of the company he had met that day. It was marvelous how money smoothed everything. It was the oil that made the cogs in the social machine revolve; without it there was no rhythm or harmony, but only a broken, jarring movement. Without money he felt life must be always in a degree squalid. He remembered his own home and the numerous worries about small accounts and small expenses; he knew how it had worn down the energy of his father. He knew that such worries would never touch a girl like Muriel. How easy and good-natured all these people were; they were flowers that had been grown in a fertile soil. Everything depended upon the soil in which one was planted; the finest plants would wither if they grew far from the sunshine in a damp corner of a field.
Next day Roland awoke to a world heavy with a dripping golden mist, that heralded a bright hot day. There had been a heavy dew, and after breakfast they all walked down to the ground to look at the wicket.
“If we win the toss to-day, Gerald,” said Mr. Marston to his son, “I think we had better put them in first. It is bound to play a bit trickily for the first hour or so.”
There was no need for such subtlety, however, for the village won the toss, and, as is the way with villagers, decided to go in first.
“Good,” said Mr. Marston, “and if we have not got eight of them out by lunch I shall be very surprised.”
And, sure enough, eight of the village were out by lunch, but the score had reached one hundred and five. This was largely due to three erratic overs that had been sent down by an ecclesiastical student from Wells who had bowled, perhaps in earnest of future compromise, on the leg theory, with his field placed upon the off.
The local butcher had collected some thirty runs off these three overs, and thirty runs in a village match when the whole score of a side does not usually reach more than fifty or sixty is a serious consideration.
At lunch time Mr. Marston was most apologetic. “I had heard he was a good bowler,” he said to Roland, “and I thought it would be a good thing to give him a chance to bowl early on; and then when I saw him getting hit all over the place I imagined he was probably angling for a catch or something; and then after he had been hit about in the first two overs I had to give him a third for luck.”
“An expensive courtesy,” said Roland.
“Perhaps it was; but, after all, a hundred and five is not a great deal, and we have a good many bats on our side.”