Somebody is Untrustworthy.
The boys did their best to worthily earn their cricket-match, and it came off some weeks after in due time.
The morning broke gloriously; four wagonettes came round to the door after a very early breakfast, and the masters followed in an open carriage with the Doctor, Wrench closing the door of each vehicle, and confiding to each party as it started that he wished it had been his luck to go as well; but he was going to enjoy himself that day by having a regular good polish at the Doctor’s plate.
Strongley was reached in good time, the wickets were pitched, and the enemy, as the boys called them, made such a poor score in their innings that they had to follow on to another failure, the result being that the Doctor’s pupils beat them in one innings, and drove back to Plymborough cheering madly.
As it happened, during the return, Glyn and Singh were separated; Glyn being in the first wagonette and reaching Plymborough a good half-hour before the last one, in which Singh rode.
Hurrying up to his room for a good wash and change, to get it over before Singh returned, the first thing that caught the boy’s eyes was Singh’s little bunch of keys hanging from the lock of the bullock-trunk in the corner.
Glyn was in such high spirits that the sight of the bunch set him laughing.
“Well, of all the untrustworthy fellows I ever knew,” he said, “poor old Singh’s about the worst.”
Crossing to the trunk, he raised the lid, which yielded easily to his hand, banged it down again, turned the key, and put the bunch in the pocket of his flannel trousers ready to transfer to his ordinary garments when he dressed.
He had just finished when a burst of cheering and the rattle of wheels announced the coming of the last wagonette; and soon after, tired and hungry, Singh came up, to help fill the corridor with a chorus of chattering, and then hurriedly went on for his change of dress.