The next moment the crisis was past. The ball hit the very centre of Devenish’s bat, and rolled back down the pitch.
The school broke into one great howl of joy. There were still seven runs between them and victory, but nobody appeared to recognise this fact as important. Mike had got the bowling, and the bowling was not de Freece’s.
It seemed almost an anti-climax when a four to leg and two two’s through the slips settled the thing.
Devenish was caught and bowled in de Freece’s next over; but the Wrykyn total was one hundred and seventy-two.
“Good game,” said Maclaine, meeting Burgess in the pavilion. “Who was the man who made all the runs? How many, by the way?”
“Eighty-three. It was young Jackson. Brother of the other one.”
“That family! How many more of them are you going to have here?”
“He’s the last. I say, rough luck on de Freece. He bowled rippingly.”