They sat down and watched the Eton captain placing his field. Desmond and his companion were walking slowly towards the wickets amid Harrow cheers. The cheering was lukewarm as yet. It would have fire enough in it presently. The Caterpillar pointed out some of the swells.
"That's old Lyburn. Hasn't missed a match since '64. Was brought here once with a broken leg! Carried in a litter, by Jove! That fellow with the long, white beard is Lord Fawley. He made 78 not out in the days of Charlemagne."
"It was in '53," said the Duffer, who never joked on really serious subjects; "and he made 68, not 78. He's pulling his beard. I believe he's as nervous as I am."
Presently the innumerable voices about them were hushed; all eyes turned in one direction. Desmond was about to take the first ball. It was delivered moderately fast, with a slight break. Desmond played forward.
"Well played, sir! Well pla-a-ayed!"
The shout rumbled round the huge circle. The beginning and the end of a great match are always thrilling. The second and third balls were played like the first. John could hear Mr. Desmond saying to Warde, "He has Hugo's style and way of standing—eh?" And Warde replied, "Yes; but he's a finer batsman. Ah-h-h!"
The first real cheer burst like a bomb. Desmond had cut the sixth ball to the boundary.
Over! The new bowler was a tall, thin boy with flaxen hair.
"That's Cosmo Kinloch, Fluff's brother," said John. "I wonder they can't do better than that. Even I knocked him all over the shop at White Ladies last summer."
"He's come on, they tell me," said the Caterpillar. "Good Lord, he nearly had him first ball."