Mike seemed concerned. "I say, that looks rather rotten! I wonder if it was awfully bad. It's the first I've had from Appleby." "It can't be any worse than the horrid ones Mr. Blake used to write when you were in his form." "No, that's a comfort," said Mike philosophically. "Think there's any more tea in that pot?" "I call it a shame," said Marjory; "they ought to be jolly glad to have you at Wrykyn just for cricket, instead of writing beastly reports that make father angry and don't do any good to anybody." "Last Christmas he said he'd take me away if I got another one." "He didn't mean it really, I _know_ he didn't! He couldn't! You're the best bat Wrykyn's ever had." "What ho!" interpolated Mike. "You _are_. Everybody says you are. Why, you got your first the very first term you were there--even Joe didn't do anything nearly so good as that. Saunders says you're simply bound to play for England in another year or two." "Saunders is a jolly good chap. He bowled me a half volley on the off the first ball I had in a school match. By the way, I wonder if he's out at the net now. Let's go and see." Saunders the professional was setting up the net when they arrived. Mike put on his pads and went to the wicket, while Marjory and the dogs retired as usual to the far hedge to retrieve. She was kept busy. Saunders was a good sound bowler of the M.C.C. minor match type, and there had been a time when he had worried Mike considerably, but Mike had been in the Wrykyn team for three seasons now, and each season he had advanced tremendously in his batting. He had filled out in three years. He had always had the style, and now he had the strength as well, Saunder's bowling on a true wicket seemed simple to him. It was early in the Easter holidays, but already he was beginning to find his form. Saunders, who looked on Mike as his own special invention, was delighted. "If you don't be worried by being too anxious now that you're captain, Master Mike," he said, "you'll make a century every match next term." "I wish I wasn't; it's a beastly responsibility." Henfrey, the Wrykyn cricket captain of the previous season, was not returning next term, and Mike was to reign in his stead. He liked the prospect, but it certainly carried with it a rather awe-inspiring responsibility. At night sometimes he would lie awake, appalled by the fear of losing his form, or making a hash of things by choosing the wrong men to play for the school and leaving the right men out. It is no light thing to captain a public school at cricket. As he was walking toward the house, Phyllis met him. "Oh, I've been hunting for you, Mike; Father wants you." "What for?" "I don't know." "Where?" "He's in the study. He seems ..." added Phyllis, throwing in the information by a way of a makeweight, "in a beastly temper." Mike's jaw fell slightly. "I hope the dickens it's nothing to do with that bally report," was his muttered exclamation.