And he told how matters stood with him. “So, you see,” he concluded, “I’m supposed to be hunting for ruins and things”--Mike’s ideas on the subject of archaeology were vague--“but I could always slip away. We all start out together, but I could nip back, get on to my bike--I’ve got it down here--and meet you anywhere you liked. By Jove, I’m simply dying for a game. I can hardly keep my hands off a bat.” “I’ll give you all you want. What you’d better do is to ride straight to Lower Borlock--that’s the name of the place--and I’ll meet you on the ground. Any one will tell you where Lower Borlock is. It’s just off the London road. There’s a sign-post where you turn off. Can you come next Saturday?” “Rather. I suppose you can fix me up with a bat and pads? I don’t want to bring mine.” “I’ll lend you everything. I say, you know, we can’t give you a Wrykyn wicket. The Lower Borlock pitch isn’t a shirt-front.” “I’ll play on a rockery, if you want me to,” said Mike. * * * * * “You’re going to what?” asked Psmith, sleepily, on being awakened and told the news. “I’m going to play cricket, for a village near here. I say, don’t tell a soul, will you? I don’t want it to get about, or I may get lugged in to play for the school.” “My lips are sealed. I think I’ll come and watch you. Cricket I dislike, but watching cricket is one of the finest of Britain’s manly sports. I’ll borrow Jellicoe’s bicycle.” * * * * * That Saturday, Lower Borlock smote the men of Chidford hip and thigh. Their victory was due to a hurricane innings of seventy-five by a new-comer to the team, M. Jackson. CHAPTER XXXVIII THE FIRE BRIGADE MEETING Cricket is the great safety-valve. If you like the game, and are in a position to play it at least twice a week, life can never be entirely grey. As time went on, and his average for Lower Borlock reached the fifties and stayed there, Mike began, though he would not have admitted it, to enjoy himself. It was not Wrykyn, but it was a very decent substitute. The only really considerable element making for discomfort now was Mr. Downing. By bad luck it was in his form that Mike had been placed on arrival; and Mr. Downing, never an easy form-master to get on with, proved more than usually difficult in his dealings with Mike. They had taken a dislike to each other at their first meeting; and it grew with further acquaintance. To Mike, Mr. Downing was all that a master ought not to be, fussy, pompous, and openly influenced in his official dealings with his form by his own private likes and dislikes. To Mr. Downing, Mike was simply an unamiable loafer, who did nothing for the school and apparently had none of the instincts which should be implanted in the healthy boy. Mr. Downing was rather strong on the healthy boy.