Grace had shown her hand with a vengeance. The library windows were sufficiently far away to be likely to receive one of Archie’s best hits. It was plain that this knowledge rendered the batsman very uneasy. Invitingly simple balls, that he would have taken a mild pleasure in lifting into the Lords’ pavilion, he felt bound to treat with every respect, as a momentary indiscretion was likely to have the direst consequences. But presently the flesh was no longer to be denied. Having patiently withstood the insidious charms of six or seven, his self-repression suddenly gave way, and, exactly as the bowler anticipated, smash went the ball through the library windows. It was vain that Elphinstone, celebrated out-field as he was, attempted to get at it. A painfully significant crashing of glass testified to the unfailing judgment of W. G. A moment later, to the consternation of every witness of the incident, out came the reverend occupant of the library, spectacted and bareheaded, _The Times_ newspaper fluttering in his hand, and a great indignation hovering about him generally. “I positively won’t have it!” he cried in his deepest tones. “It’s shameful! Do you know what that window’s worth? And are you aware that you’ve damaged the new _Encyclopædia Britannica_?” “Well, father,” said W. G. penitently, “we are all of us ever so dreadfully sorry,” and then made haste to append, “but you know you bought the Cycling--what-do-you-call-it--quite against my advice, didn’t you, father? Don’t believe in these great bargains. You men don’t either, do you?” “Oh no, we don’t,” chimed everybody, with wonderful conviction and unanimity. “I knew you didn’t,” said Grace, with great enthusiasm. “I was certain that you didn’t.” Our extreme distrust of the _Encyclopædia Britannica_, considered as an investment, grew quite noticeable. Incredible as it may seem, however, Miss Grace’s parent did not allow these earnestly-expressed opinions to bias his own in the matter of window breaking. Indeed, they were as fervently uttered as ours, and, if anything, more pointed. Nor did he abate in his behaviour, nor did his _Times_ cease its fluttering till he suddenly observed the situation of the wicket, and the mighty cricketer beside it. Thereupon the change in his demeanour was as instant as it was welcome. “What!” he cried, “was it hit from there? Extraordinary, most extraordinary! Archie, let me feel that bat. And, Biffin, will you please fetch the tape. This must be measured. Considerably more than a hundred yards, I’ll wager.” Next moment he was brandishing Archie’s bat, in a manner that plainly said that this was not the first bat handle that had exercised his grip. “A Warsop, is it?” said the veteran. “I remember ’em. Once remember putting old Mat Kempson out of Prince’s with one of Ben’s. Old Matthew _was_ annoyed. Beautifully balanced this is. Must be every ounce of two-seven, yet it picks up like two-two.”