The excitement during the second innings had to be seen to be believed. Even old Thompson, who was known for his imperturbable temper, was seen to wipe his brow continually with a yellow handkerchief.
Thompson’s went in, and four wickets fell for eleven. Baltimore went in at fifth wicket, and made thirty-nine. Thompson’s were all out for sixty-one, and were sixty-six ahead of Lower Templeton. This was a good lead, and the hearts of Thompson’s beat high. Baltimore started well and took six of the Lower Templeton wickets for twenty; then he obviously tired. Cracky took him off, and Lower Templeton had three-quarters of an hour’s pure joy. As the school clock struck half-past six Lower Templeton had made sixty runs for eight wickets. Cracky then put Baltimore on again, and he took the remaining wickets for no runs. Thompson’s were victorious by six runs, and Baltimore was carried shoulder-high, amongst the plaudits of the surrounding multitudes, up to the school buildings.
V
Impossible to give any adequate idea of Jeremy’s pride and pleasure over this event. He did not share in the procession up to the school, but waited his time. Then, just before chapel, crossing the playground in the purple dusk, he passed Baltimore and another boy.
“Hullo! . . . I say . . .” He stopped.
Baltimore looked back over his shoulder. Jeremy could not precisely see the expression, but fancied it contemptuous. Most curiously, then, for the rest of the evening he was worried and unhappy. Why should he worry? Baltimore was his friend—must be, after all that Jeremy had done for him. Jeremy was too young and too unanalytical to know what it was that he wanted, but in reality he longed now for that protective sense to continue. He must still “have something to look after.” There were lots of things he could do for Baltimore. . . .
Next morning after breakfast he caught him alone, ten minutes before chapel. He was embarrassed and shy, but he plunged in: “I say—it was ripping yesterday. Weren’t you glad?”
Baltimore, looking at Jeremy curiously, shrugged his shoulders.
“You’re coming out next Sunday, aren’t you?” he went on.
Baltimore smiled. “I’m not going to have you following me everywhere,” he said, in a rather feeble imitation of Jeremy’s voice. “If you behave all right, and don’t cry and tell me when anyone kicks you, I’ll let you speak to me sometimes. Otherwise you keep off.”