The old captain had not much altered in the few weeks since he had left Willoughby. His whiskers had not had time to grow, and he even wore the same flannel jacket he had on at the athletic sports in May. But in the eyes of the boys he might have been no longer a man, but a demi-god, with such awe and reverence did they behold him.
He had lately scored one hundred and five for the Colts of his county, and had even been selected to play in the eleven against M.C.C. next week. What he might not achieve when he went up to Oxford in the autumn no one could say, but that he would be stroke of the eight and captain of the fifteen, and carry off all the events in the next University athletics, no one at the school ventured to doubt for a moment.
The Templeton boys hardly knew what to make of all this demonstration in favour of their opponents’ umpire, and it added considerably to their nervousness to hear loud cries of “Well umpired, sir!” when any one was given out.
Parson and Telson, having taken the precaution to send Bosher and Lawkins early in the day to keep seats for them on the round bench under the schoolhouse elms, viewed the match luxuriously, and not a little to the envy of other juniors, who had to stand or sit on the ground where they could.
“Boshy play, you know,” says Telson, helping himself to monkey-nuts out of Parson’s hospitable pocket; “but it’s stunning to see the way old Wynd. gives middle. Any one else would take double the time over it.”
“Right you are! And he’s awfully fair too. See the neat way he gave Forbes out leg before, just now!”
“There’s another two for Tedbury. We’ll cheer him next time. Hullo, Bosher, old man! you needn’t be coming here. There’s no room; we’re full up.”
“You might let us sit down a bit,” says Bosher; “I kept the seat from half-past ten to twelve for you.”
“Jolly muff not to sit down, then, when you had the chance. Jolly gross conduct of the evil Bosher, eh, Telson?”
“Rather! He’s small in the world, but he’d better get out of the light, my boy, or he’ll catch it!”