It was in the midst of this gradually rising excitement that Loman slipped quietly and unobserved from the scene, and betook himself to the errand on which we accompanied him in the preceding chapter. The two Sixth men went quickly to work, and at the end of the second over had scored eight. Then Callonby, in stepping back to "draw" one of Wraysford's balls, knocked down his wicket. How the small boys yelled at this! But the sight of Raleigh going in second soon silenced them. "They mean hard work by sending in the captain now," said Paul. "I don't like that!" "No more do I," said Stephen. "He always knocks Oliver's bowling about." "Oh, bother; is your brother bowling?" said Master Paul, quite unconscious of wounding any one's feelings. "It's a pity they've got no one better." Stephen coloured up at this, and wondered what made Paul such a horrid boy. "Better look-out for your eyes," said Bramble, cheerily. "The captain always knocks up this way, over square-leg's head." There was a general buzz of youngsters round the field, as the hero of the school walked up to the wicket, and coolly turned to face Oliver's bowling. The scorer in the tent hurriedly sharpened his pencil. The big fellows, who had been standing up to watch the opening overs, sat down on the grass and made themselves comfortable. Something was going to happen, evidently. The captain was in, and meant business. Oliver gripped the ball hard in his hand, and walked back to the end of his run. "Play!" cried the umpire, and amid dead silence the ball shot from the bowler's hand. Next moment there rose a shout loud enough to deafen all Saint Dominic's. The ball was flying fifty feet up in the air, and Raleigh was slowly walking, bat in hand, back to the tent he had only a moment ago quitted! The captain had been clean bowled, first ball! Who shall describe the excitement, the yelling, the cheering, the consternation that followed? Paul got up and danced a hornpipe on the bench; Bramble kicked the boy nearest to him. "Well bowled, sir!" shouted some. "Hard lines!" screamed others. "Hurrah for the Fifth!" "You'll beat them yet, Sixth!" such were a few of the shouts audible above the general clamour. As for Stephen, he was wild with joy. He was a staunch partisan of the Fifth in any case, but that was nothing to the fact that it was _his_ brother, his own brother and nobody else's, who had bowled that eventful ball, and who was at that moment the hero of Saint Dominic's. Stephen felt as proud and elated as if he had bowled the ball himself, and could afford to be absolutely patronising to those around him, on the head of this achievement. "That wasn't a bad ball of Oliver's," he said to Paul. "He can bowl very well when he tries." "It was a beastly fluke!" roared Bramble, determined to see no merit in the exploit. "Shut up and don't make a row," said Stephen, with a bland smile of forgiveness.