Chapter Twenty Three.
There was a tremendous burst of cheering and a rush for the tent by the boys who had left their jackets within, and among them Burr major, disappointed, but at the same time justly proud of the splendid score he had made, walked up to the door, disappeared amongst plenty of clapping, and soon after came out again in his jacket and vest.
We had all clustered up round about the players, and two masters shook hands with the champion, who directly after caught sight of me.
“Hallo! How’s the head?” he cried.
“Getting better now.”
“I saw you watching the match,” he continued. “Nice time you had of it lying about under that tree, while we fellows did all the work.”
“I should have liked to be in it,” I said rather drearily; “but I really was very bad.”
His attention was called off soon after, and then there was a summons to the tent for the festive high tea, which was to come off directly, as the Hastings boys had a long drive back.
I was much better, but the thought of food in that crowded tent was nauseating, and, watching my opportunity, I slipped away, seeing Tom Mercer looking about as if in search of me before going into the tent.
“I know what I’ll do,” I thought. “I’ll walk gently down along the lane to Bob Hopley’s place, and ask Polly to make me a cup of tea and cut me some bread and butter.”