Mr. Armitage was, however, the only one of the party at all alarmed by Roland’s daring. That evening Roland was a small hero. Mr. Marston could find no words too good for him.
“A splendid fellow,” he said to Gerald afterwards. “A really splendid fellow—the sort of friend I have always wanted you to make—a first-class, open, straight fellow.”
Marston thought this a good opportunity to drop a hint about Roland’s position.
“Yes—a first-class fellow,” he said. “Isn’t it rotten to think a chap like that will have to spend the whole of his life in a bank, with only a fortnight’s holiday a year, and no chance at all to develop his game!”
Mr. Marston’s rubicund face expressed appropriate disapproval.
“That fellow going to spend all his life in a bank? Preposterous! He will be simply ruined there—a fellow who can play cricket like that!”
Mr. Marston, having spent his own life at a desk, was anxious to save anyone else from a similar fate, especially a cricketer.
“Well, it seems the only thing for him to do, father; his people haven’t got much money and have no influence. I know they have tried to get him something better, but they haven’t been able to.”
“My dear Gerald, why didn’t you tell me about it? If I had known a fellow like that was being tied up in a bank I’d have tried to do something to help him.”
“Well, it’s not too late now, is it?”