How the small boys yelled at this!
But the sight of Raleigh going in second soon silenced them.
“They mean hard work by sending in the captain now,” said Paul. “I don’t like that!”
“No more do I,” said Stephen. “He always knocks Oliver’s bowling about.”
“Oh, bother; is your brother bowling?” said Master Paul, quite unconscious of wounding any one’s feelings. “It’s a pity they’ve got no one better.”
Stephen coloured up at this, and wondered what made Paul such a horrid boy.
“Better look-out for your eyes,” said Bramble, cheerily. “The captain always knocks up this way, over square-leg’s head.”
There was a general buzz of youngsters round the field, as the hero of the school walked up to the wicket, and coolly turned to face Oliver’s bowling.
The scorer in the tent hurriedly sharpened his pencil. The big fellows, who had been standing up to watch the opening overs, sat down on the grass and made themselves comfortable. Something was going to happen, evidently. The captain was in, and meant business.
Oliver gripped the ball hard in his hand, and walked back to the end of his run. “Play!” cried the umpire, and amid dead silence the ball shot from the bowler’s hand.