Kenyon was beaming. "No, I haven't--honestly I haven't! Ask Ethel!" "Oh, it's genuine enough," said Mr. Harwood; "it's his accomplishment--one to be proud of, isn't it? That'll do, Kenyon; good-night, both of you." The door closed. "_He's_ one to be proud of," said Forrester pointedly, a vague indignation rising within him. "A delightful little chap, I call him! And he _was_ right to a decimal. I never heard of such a fellow!" "He's cricket mad," said Mr. Harwood. "I'm glad you like him." "I like him immensely. I like his enthusiasm. I never saw so small a boy so keen. Does he play?" "Not properly; he's not fit to; he's rather delicate. No, it's mostly theory with Kenyon; and I'm very much afraid he'll bore you. You mustn't let him. Indeed I fear you'll have a slow time all round; but, as I told you, there's a horse to ride whenever you want him." "Does the boy ride?" "He's not allowed to. Then we have a very respectable club in the town, where I can tuck you up and make you comfortable any time you like to come down. Only don't, for your own sake, encourage Kenyon to be a nuisance; he doesn't require very much encouragement." "My dear sir, we're too keen cricketers to bore each other; we're going to be tremendous friends. You don't mean to say he bores _you_? Ah, with the scores, perhaps; but you must be awfully proud of having such a jolly little beggar; I know _I_ should be! I'd make a cricketer of him. If he's as keen as this now, in a few years' time----" "You smoke, Forrester? We'll go into the other room." Mr. Harwood had turned away and was putting out the lights. II Long before breakfast next morning--while the lawns were yet frosted with dew and lustrous in the level sunlight--Kenyon Harwood and C. J. Forrester, the well-known cricketer, met and fraternised. Kenyon and John had always spoken of Forrester as "C. J."; and when Kenyon let this out, it was arranged, chiefly by C. J. himself, who was amused and pleased, that Kenyon should never call him anything else. Mr. Harwood, at breakfast, rather disapproved of the arrangement, but it was hardly a matter for the paternal ukase. Meanwhile Kenyon had personally conducted C. J. round the place, and had most impressively introduced him (in the potting-shed) to John, who looked so proud and so delighted as to put a head even on Kenyon's delight and pride. C. J. was charmed with John; but he was less enthusiastic about a bricked quadrangle, in front of the gardener's and coachman's cottages, with wickets painted on a buttress, where Kenyon was constantly indulging in small cricket--notably in the dinner-hour of John, who bolted his food to come out and bowl to him. The skilled opinion of C. J. was not in favour of "snob," as played by Kenyon with a racket and a soft ball.