For some time after this matters began to favour the School again. With the score at a hundred and five, three men left in two overs, one bowled by Gosling, the others caught at point and in the deep off Jennings, who had deposed Baynes. Six wickets were now down, and the enemy still over a hundred behind. But the M.C.C. in its school matches has this peculiarity. However badly it may seem to stand, there is always something up its sleeve. In this case it was a professional, a man indecently devoid of anything in the shape of nerves. He played the bowling with a stolid confidence, amounting almost to contempt, which struck a chill to the hearts of the School bowlers. It did worse. It induced them to bowl with the sole object of getting the conversationalist at the batting end, thus enabling the professional to pile up an unassuming but rapidly increasing score by means of threes and singles. As for the conversationalist, he had made thirty or more, and wanted all the bowling he could get. 'It's a very curious thing,' he said to Reece, as he faced Gosling, after his partner had scored a three off the first ball of the over, 'but some fellows simply detest fast bowling. Now I--' He never finished the sentence. When he spoke again it was to begin a new one. 'How on earth did that happen?' he asked. 'I think it bowled you,' said Reece stolidly, picking up the two stumps which had been uprooted by Gosling's express. 'Yes. But how? Dash it! What? I can't underst--. Most curious thing I ever--dash it all, you know.' He drifted off in the direction of the Pavilion, stopping on the way to ask short leg his opinion of the matter. 'Bowled, Sammy,' said Reece, putting on the bails. 'Well bowled, Gosling,' growled Norris from the slips. 'Sammy the marvel, by Jove,' said Marriott. 'Switch it on, Samuel, more and more.' 'I wish Norris would give me a rest. Where on earth is that man Gethryn?' 'Rum, isn't it? There's going to be something of a row about it. Norris seems to be getting rather shirty. Hullo! here comes the Deathless Author.' The author referred to was the new batsman, a distinguished novelist, who played a good deal for the M.C.C. He broke his journey to the wicket to speak to the conversationalist, who was still engaged with short leg. 'Bates, old man,' he said, 'if you're going to the Pavilion you might wait for me. I shall be out in an hour or two.' Upon which Bates, awaking suddenly to the position of affairs, went on his way.