“From whom?” inquired Riddell, who had had quite enough “messages” during the last few days to last him for the rest of the term.
“You’d scarcely guess—from Bloomfield. The thing is, he has two places yet to fill up in the eleven for Saturday, and he wants you to play for one.”
Despite his trouble, Riddell could hardly conceal a smile of pleasure at this honour, which, though not exactly unexpected, he had hardly realised till now.
“Oh, I say,” said he, “I’m certain there are lots of better fellows.”
“You may be quite sure if there had been Bloomfield would have picked them up,” said Fairbairn. “As it happens, we want a slip, and I heard Bloomfield say himself that you are awfully good there. You seem to have hidden your light under a bushel, old man, while in the schoolhouse.”
“I may have been lucky while Bloomfield was watching,” said Riddell.
“All gammon. You needn’t fancy he’s doing this to compliment you, old man. Game and that lot are awfully down on him about it. They’d like to make up the team entirely of Parretts, but it seems they can’t do without us for once! Of course you’ll play.”
“Oh, yes,” said Riddell; “he’s captain of the eleven; I must.”
“Hurrah. Well, you’ll have to turn up at the Big practices, of course, during the next three days. There’s one at three this afternoon and another at 6:30, and if you like to come down for an hour after first school I’ll give you some balls at the nets.”
This was Tuesday. The Rockshire match was to come off on Saturday, and between now and then, as Riddell well knew, every spare moment he could call his own would have to be devoted to cricket.