"No, he's gone down town," answered the long-stop.
"Oh, bother!" was the answer. "I wanted to speak to him. I'm going away for a couple of days to see my pater before he leaves for India. Well, I must see him when I come back."
"All right," answered Buckle. "Look here," he added; "how about getting this cup engraved?"
Brise was already moving away. He turned his head and said something, but the remark was lost in the babel of noises. The crowd and hubbub increased; there was some shoving and indications of horse-play.
"Now then, all you fellows who haven't any business here, just clear out!" shouted Buckle.
"Clear out! Hook it, you kids!" echoed two or three prefects, at the same time picking up old leg-guards and other weapons with which, if necessary, to enforce obedience to their commands. "Out you go!"
Among those who joined in the helter-skelter rush which followed was Master Harry Westcott, who, with his usual self-assertion, had forced his way into the pavilion, and now dashed out headlong to escape the consequences of his temerity. Glancing at his watch, he found the hour was later than he expected, and so, starting off at a trot across the level playing-field, he made the best of his way back to the house of his aunt, Mrs. Arden, with whom he lodged during the school terms.
Aunt Polly had finished her tea when her nephew arrived, but she still sat at the head of the table, while Harry gulped down huge mouthfuls of bread and butter, at the same time pouring forth an excited account of the match, describing with great animation Herbert's big hits, Smith's sensational catch, and the magnificent manner in which Vincent had kept wicket. Mrs. Arden smiled and nodded, but it was perhaps excusable if her mind wandered, and she mixed some points in her nephew's narrative. To her the Cock-house Cup was but a silver vase. She knew none of the traditions which belonged to it, the long story of gallant and honourable warfare told by the names engraved upon its side; and though she was aware of the fact that each summer term one house gained the cricket challenge trophy, yet it did not seem of vital importance to her whether it went to Conway's or Morgan's. She was, however, pleased with Harry's enthusiasm, and anxious for him to grow up a thorough Englishman, and, therefore, she tried to sympathize with him in the interest which he took in the great national sport, and made up for her lack of knowledge by being a ready listener when the boy came home with tales of the playing-field.
Meanwhile, Buckle had changed his boots, found his coat, and started off to return to Conway's, bearing the oak case in triumph, and surrounded by a small group of wearers of the green and orange cap. As they turned into the road a pebble clattered past them.
"Swindle!" yelled a shrill voice, and a youth with a red and black band to his "straw" disappeared quickly round a neighbouring corner.