“I’ll do it as quickly as the team did to-day. I can’t say more than that.” “You were all right.” “I’m an exceptional sort of chap.” “What about the Jacksons?” “It’s going to be a close thing. If Bob’s fielding were to improve suddenly, he would just do it. But young Mike’s all over him as a bat. In a year or two that kid’ll be a marvel. He’s bound to get in next year, of course, so perhaps it would be better if Bob got the place as it’s his last season. Still, one wants the best man, of course.” * * * * * Mike avoided Bob as much as possible during this anxious period; and he privately thought it rather tactless of the latter when, meeting him one day outside Donaldson’s, he insisted on his coming in and having some tea. Mike shuffled uncomfortably as his brother filled the kettle and lit the Etna. It required more tact than he had at his disposal to carry off a situation like this. Bob, being older, was more at his ease. He got tea ready, making desultory conversation the while, as if there were no particular reason why either of them should feel uncomfortable in the other’s presence. When he had finished, he poured Mike out a cup, passed him the bread, and sat down. “Not seen much of each other lately, Mike, what?” Mike murmured unintelligibly through a mouthful of bread-and-jam. “It’s no good pretending it isn’t an awkward situation,” continued Bob, “because it is. Beastly awkward.” “Awful rot the pater sending us to the same school.” “Oh, I don’t know. We’ve all been at Wrykyn. Pity to spoil the record. It’s your fault for being such a young Infant Prodigy, and mine for not being able to field like an ordinary human being.” “You get on much better in the deep.” “Bit better, yes. Liable at any moment to miss a sitter, though. Not that it matters much really whether I do now.” Mike stared. “What! Why?” “That’s what I wanted to see you about. Has Burgess said anything to you yet?” “No. Why? What about?” “Well, I’ve a sort of idea our little race is over. I fancy you’ve won.” “I’ve not heard a word----”