"Well," said Jim, "I must be going on. Now, do as I say, and have some sleep." "Thank you, sir, I think I will," said the major, turning towards the mattress with touching docility. Unfortunately, however, he happened to look round at the grating, and in an instant his face and manner changed. Jim, following the lunatic’s glance, saw that the attendant Smith was still peering through the bars. "Get away from there--sharp!" he shouted, but even as he spoke the major hurled himself against the staunch oaken portal, and tore at it with his nails as he yelled imprecations at the object of his hate. Jim stepped swiftly forward and laid his hand on the madman’s shoulder. The major turned like an infuriated beast, his fingers twitching, and his whole body convulsed with fury. "I told you to get some sleep, major," said Jim, imperiously, "and I expect my orders to be obeyed." For a terrible moment the attendants held their breath. But Jim looked the major coolly in the face. Had he flinched the very slightest, the madman would have been at his throat. Still steadily eyeing the man, Jim pointed to the mattress, and slowly, doubtfully, the major crept towards it and lay down. In two minutes he was slumbering like a child. Jim made sure that the major was fast asleep before he softly approached the door. Hughes let him out and shot the bolt back into its socket with all possible speed. "The Doctor himself couldn’t have done it better, sir," said the head attendant, with heartfelt admiration. "Will you come and see the cricket now, sir?" he added. The milder of the asylum’s inmates were trying conclusions with bat and ball in an adjoining field. Jim, on arriving at the scene of play, displaced one of the attendants who was acting as wicket-keeper, and took up his position behind the sticks. The ball came swiftly, and the batsman--a tall, broad-shouldered, ill-tempered-looking fellow--snicked it into Jim’s ready hands. "_How’s that?_" roared the Long ’Un; but the attendant umpiring at the other end, being a diplomat, gave it as "Not out." As Jim trundled the ball back to the bowler, the big batsman turned to him and testily observed, "Please don’t ask a question of that sort again. I don’t like it." "My dear man," said Mortimer, assuming that he was addressing one of the most reasonable inmates of the place, "if I catch you at the wicket, you’re out. That’s only fair." But the batsman merely glared at him sulkily. The next ball was a still more palpable catch at the wicket, and was securely held. "_How’s that?_" inquired Jim, who didn’t believe in showing the white feather. The words had hardly left his lips when the batsman swung round and aimed a terrific blow at his head--a blow that Jim, by great agility, just managed to avoid. "I told you," said the batsman, with dignity, "that I did not like you saying that." The ever-watchful Hughes hurried up.