Mike got an answer from his father on the morning of the Ripton match.

　　A letter from Wyatt also lay on his plate when he came down tobreakfast.

　　Mr. Jackson's letter was short, but to the point. He said he would goand see Wyatt early in the next week. He added that being expelledfrom a public school was not the only qualification for success as asheep-farmer, but that, if Mike's friend added to this a generalintelligence and amiability, and a skill for picking off cats with anair-pistol and bull's-eyes with a Lee-Enfield, there was no reason whysomething should not be done for him. In any case he would buy him alunch, so that Wyatt would extract at least some profit from hisvisit. He said that he hoped something could be managed. It was a pitythat a boy accustomed to shoot cats should be condemned for the restof his life to shoot nothing more exciting than his cuffs.

　　Wyatt's letter was longer. It might have been published under thetitle "My First Day in a Bank, by a Beginner." His advent hadapparently caused little sensation. He had first had a briefconversation with the manager, which had run as follows:

　　"Mr. Wyatt?""Yes, sir.""H'm ... Sportsman?""Yes, sir.""Cricketer?""Yes, sir.""Play football?""Yes, sir.""H'm ... Racquets?""Yes, sir.""Everything?""Yes, sir.""H'm ... Well, you won't get any more of it now."After which a Mr. Blenkinsop had led him up to a vast ledger, in whichhe was to inscribe the addresses of all out-going letters. Theseletters he would then stamp, and subsequently take in bundles to thepost office. Once a week he would be required to buy stamps. "If Iwere one of those Napoleons of Finance," wrote Wyatt, "I should cookthe accounts, I suppose, and embezzle stamps to an incredible amount.

　　But it doesn't seem in my line. I'm afraid I wasn't cut out for abusiness career. Still, I have stamped this letter at the expenseof the office, and entered it up under the heading 'Sundries,' whichis a sort of start. Look out for an article in the _Wrykynian_,'Hints for Young Criminals, by J. Wyatt, champion catch-as-catch-canstamp-stealer of the British Isles.' So long. I suppose you areplaying against Ripton, now that the world of commerce has found thatit can't get on without me. Mind you make a century, and then perhapsBurgess'll give you your first after all. There were twelve coloursgiven three years ago, because one chap left at half-term and the manwho played instead of him came off against Ripton."* * * * *This had occurred to Mike independently. The Ripton match was aspecial event, and the man who performed any outstanding feat againstthat school was treated as a sort of Horatius. Honours were heapedupon him. If he could only make a century! or even fifty. Even twenty,if it got the school out of a tight place. He was as nervous on theSaturday morning as he had been on the morning of the M.C.C. match. Itwas Victory or Westminster Abbey now. To do only averagely well, to beamong the ruck, would be as useless as not playing at all, as far ashis chance of his first was concerned.

　　It was evident to those who woke early on the Saturday morning thatthis Ripton match was not likely to end in a draw. During the Fridayrain had fallen almost incessantly in a steady drizzle. It had stoppedlate at night; and at six in the morning there was every prospect ofanother hot day. There was that feeling in the air which shows thatthe sun is trying to get through the clouds. The sky was a dull greyat breakfast time, except where a flush of deeper colour gave a hintof the sun. It was a day on which to win the toss, and go in first. Ateleven-thirty, when the match was timed to begin, the wicket would betoo wet to be difficult. Runs would come easily till the sun came outand began to dry the ground. When that happened there would be troublefor the side that was batting.

　　Burgess, inspecting the wicket with Mr. Spence during the quarter toeleven interval, was not slow to recognise this fact.

　　"I should win the toss to-day, if I were you, Burgess," said Mr.

　　Spence.

　　"Just what I was thinking, sir.""That wicket's going to get nasty after lunch, if the sun comes out. Aregular Rhodes wicket it's going to be.""I wish we _had_ Rhodes," said Burgess. "Or even Wyatt. It wouldjust suit him, this."Mr. Spence, as a member of the staff, was not going to be drawn intodiscussing Wyatt and his premature departure, so he diverted theconversation on to the subject of the general aspect of the school'sattack.

　　"Who will go on first with you, Burgess?""Who do you think, sir? Ellerby? It might be his wicket."Ellerby bowled medium inclining to slow. On a pitch that suited him hewas apt to turn from leg and get people out caught at the wicket orshort slip.

　　"Certainly, Ellerby. This end, I think. The other's yours, though I'mafraid you'll have a poor time bowling fast to-day. Even with plentyof sawdust I doubt if it will be possible to get a decent footholdtill after lunch.""I must win the toss," said Burgess. "It's a nuisance too, about ourbatting. Marsh will probably be dead out of form after being in theInfirmary so long. If he'd had a chance of getting a bit of practiceyesterday............