So far, anything like conflict had been avoided. The Fifth had "cheeked" the Sixth, and the Sixth had snubbed the Fifth; but with the exception of Loman's assault on Oliver, which had not led to a fight, the war had been strictly one of words. Now, however, the opposing forces were to be ranged face to face at cricket; and to the junior school the opportunity seemed a grand one for a display of partisanship one side or the other. The School Eleven, on this occasion, moreover, consisted exclusively of Fifth Form boys--a most unusual circumstance, and one which seemed to be the result quite as much of management as of accident. At least so said the disappointed heroes of the Fourth. The match was, in fact--whatever it was formally styled--a match between the Sixth and the Fifth, and the partisans of either side looked upon it as a decisive event in the respective glories of the two top forms. And now the day had come. All Saint Dominic's trooped out to the meadows, and there was a rush of small boys as usual for the front benches. Stephen found himself along with his trusty ally, Paul, and his equally trusty enemy, Bramble, and some ten other Guinea-pigs and Tadpoles, wedged like sardines upon a form that would comfortably hold six, eagerly canvassing the prospects of the struggle. "The Sixth are going to win in a single innings, if you fellows want to know," announced Bramble, with all the authority of one who knows. "Not a bit of it," replied Paul. "The Fifth are safe to win, I tell you." "But they've got no decent bowlers," said Raddleston. "Never mind," said Stephen. "Loman's not going to play for the Sixth. He's sprained his wrist." "Hip, hip, hurrah?" yelled Paul, "that _is_ jolly! They are sure to be licked now. Are you sure he's out of it?" "Yes. Look at him there with his arm in a sling." And Stephen pointed to where Loman stood in his ordinary clothes talking to some of his fellows. "Well, that _is_ a piece of luck!" said Paul. "Who's to take his place?" "Baynes, they say. He's no use, though." "Don't you be too cock-sure, you two," growled Bramble. "I say we shall beat you even if Loman don't play. Got any brandy-balls left, Greenfield?" Similar speculations and hopes were being exchanged all round the field, and when at last the Fifth went out to field, and Callonby and Wren went in to bat for the Sixth, you might have heard a cat sneeze, so breathless was the excitement. Amid solemn silence the first few balls were bowled. The third ball of the first over came straight on to Wren's bat, who played it neatly back to the bowler. It was not a run, only a simple block; but it was the first play of the match, and so quite enough to loosen the tongues of all the small boys, who yelled, and howled, and cheered as frantically as if a six had been run or a wicket taken. And the ice once broken, every ball and every hit were marked and applauded as if empires depended on them.