Pip's previous performance had not been such as to justify any unbounded confidence in his supporters; but he certainly shaped better this time. He had a good eye, and by resolutely placing his bat in the path of the approaching ball he achieved the twofold result of keeping up his wicket and goading the bowlers to impotent frenzy. Once he survived a whole maiden over, though he was bombarded with long hops, tempted with slows, and intimidated with full-pitches directed at his head. He stood perfectly still; the ball rebounded from his tough young person again and again; and now and then, when the angle of incidence and the angle of reflection were very obtuse indeed, he and Marsh ran a leg-bye. The score crept up, Marsh began to get near his century, and the Hivites again plucked up heart. After batting for nearly a quarter of an hour, Pip, much to his own surprise, scored a run--four, to be precise--due to an entirely inadvertent snick to the off boundary. This brought the score up to a hundred and thirty. Directly afterwards Marsh completed his hundred, with a mighty drive over the ropes, and "e'en the ranks of Tuscany," as Uncle Bill observed, "could scarce forbear to cheer." After that Marsh, feeling uncertain as to how long his companion intended to stay, determined to make hay while the sun shone. Accordingly he began to hit. Four fours in one over brought on a slow bowler, who had to be taken off again as soon as possible; for even Pip despised him, and pulled one of his off-balls to square-leg for three. But this state of affairs was too good to last. Marsh, who had been smiting all and sundry since completing his hundred, ran out to a slow ball from the Hittite captain and missed it. The wicket-keeper whipped off the bails in a flash, and the innings was over. The full score was a hundred and fifty-seven, of which Marsh had made a hundred and seventeen. Pip scored seven, not out. Verily, this was a match. The Hittites only wanted a hundred and twenty to win; but a hundred and twenty is a big figure to compile out of the fourth innings of a house-match, when nerves are snapping like fiddle-strings. However, it was generally considered that the Hittites would win by about five wickets, and Master Simpson, by wagering an ingenious musical instrument, composed mainly of half a walnut-shell and a wooden match (invaluable for irritating nervous masters), against two fives-balls and a moribund white mouse belonging to Mumford, in support of his own house, had just brought himself within the sphere of operations of the Anti-Gambling League, when the Hivites went out to the field for the last time. Marsh had found an opportunity for a hurried consultation with Mr. Hanbury. "It's no use your going on to bowl at present," said his adviser. "You can't knock up a hundred and expect to take wickets directly afterwards." "Whom shall I begin with, sir? I thought of Martin and Watkins."