Braddy, who as usual felt and looked extinguished when Pembury made fun of him, retired sulkily, and the editor of the _Dominican_ thereupon turned his attack on another quarter. And so the dispute went on, neither party being convinced, and all satisfied only on one point--that a cloud had arisen to mar the hitherto peaceful horizon of Fifth Form existence. The cricket match of the following day, however, served to divert the thoughts of all parties for a time. As it was only the prelude to a much more important match shortly to follow, I shall not attempt to describe it fully here, as the reader will probably be far more interested in the incidents of Sixth versus School Match when it comes off. The Alphabet Match was, to tell the truth, not nearly as interesting an affair as it promised to be, for from the very first the N's to Z's had the best of it. Stephen, who with a company of fellow-Tadpoles and Guinea-pigs was perched on the palings, looking on, felt his heart sink within him as first one and then another of his brother's side lost their wickets without runs. For once he and Bramble were in sympathy, and he and Paul were at difference. The row these small boys kicked up, by the way, was one of the most notable features of the whole match. Every one of them yelled for his own side. There had, indeed, been a question whether every Guinea-pig, whatever his private initial, ought not to yell for the G's, and every Tadpole for the T's; but it was eventually decided that each should yell "on his own hook," and the effect was certainly far more diverting. The first four men of the A to M went out for two runs between them, and Stephen and Bramble sat in gloomy despair. The next man in knocked down his wicket before he had played a single ball. It was frightful, and the jeers of the Z's were hateful to hear. But Stephen brightened as he perceived that the next batsman was his brother. "Now they'll pick up!" said he. "No they won't! Greenfield senior skies his balls too much for my taste," cheeringly replied the small Bramble. But Stephen was right. For the first time that afternoon the A's made a stand. Oliver's partner at the wickets was Callonby, of the Sixth, a steady, plodding player, who hardly ever hit out, and got all his runs (if he got any) from the slips. This afternoon he hardly scored at all, but kept his wicket carefully while Oliver did the hitting. Things were looking up. The telegraph went up from 2 to 20. Wraysford, who had hitherto been bowling with Ricketts against his friend, gave up the ball to Raikes, and the field generally woke up to the importance of getting rid of this daring player.