“No,” said he to himself, “if it’s a hoax there’s no object in making it public property, and still less reason if there’s anything in it.”
Of one thing he was determined—he must go down to-morrow morning and have an interview with Tom the boat-boy. The thing might all be a hoax, but if there was the remotest chance of its being otherwise it was clearly his duty to do what he could to find out the miscreant who had brought such disgrace upon Willoughby. So he spent a somewhat uneasy evening, and even appeared absent-minded when young Wyndham, now a constant visitor to his study, paid his usual evening call.
“I say,” said the boy, with beaming face, as he entered, “isn’t it prime, Riddell? Bloomfield’s going to try me in the second-eleven, he says. You know I’ve been grinding at cricket like a horse lately, and he came down and watched me this afternoon, and I was in, and made no end of a lucky score off Dobson’s bowling. And then Bloomfield said he’d bowl me an over. My eye! what a funk I was in. I could hardly hold the bat. But I straightened up somehow, and his first ball went by. The next was frightfully swift, and dead on, but it broke a bit to the leg, and I was just in time to get at it and send it right away between long-leg and long-stop in the elms—a safe five if we’d been running. And old Bloomfield laughed and said he couldn’t wait till the ball was sent up, and said I could turn up at the second-eleven Big practice to-morrow and see how I got on there. I say, isn’t it prime, Riddell? I tell you, I shall stand on my head if I get into the team.”
Riddell had only partially heard this jubilant speech, for at that moment Tom the boat-boy was more in his thoughts even than Wyndham the Limpet. However, he had heard enough to gather from it that his young protégé was in a vast state of joy and content, and as usual he was ready with any amount of sympathy.
“It will be splendid if you do get in,” said he.
“Yes. They’ve only got eight places actually fixed, I hear, so I’ve three chances. I say, Riddell, I like Bloomfield, do you know? I think he’s an awfully good captain.”
Riddell could not help smiling at this artless outburst from the young candidate for cricket honours, and replied, “I like him too, for he came and watched our practice too, here at Welch’s.”
“Did he bowl you any balls?” demanded Wyndham.
“No, happily,” said Riddell; “but some one told me he told somebody else that I might possibly squeeze into the eleven against Rockshire if I practised hard.”
“What!” exclaimed Wyndham, in most uncomplimentary astonishment. “You in the first eleven! I say, it must be a mistake.”