e beautiful flower that withers in
the night."

"But you told me you didn't like cricket. You said you only liked
watching it."

"Quite right. I do. But at schools where cricket is compulsory you have
to overcome your private prejudices. And in time the thing becomes a
habit. Imagine my feelings when I found that I was degenerating, little
by little, into a slow left-hand bowler with a swerve. I fought against
it, but it was useless, and after a while I gave up the struggle, and
drifted with the stream. Last year in a house match"--Psmith's voice
took on a deeper tone of melancholy--"I took seven for thirteen in the
second innings on a hard wicket. I did think, when I came here, that I
had found a haven of rest, but it was not to be. I turn out tomorrow.
What Comrade Outwood will say, when he finds that his keenest
archaeological disciple has deserted, I hate to think. However ..."

Mike felt as if a young and powerful earthquake had passed. The whole
face of his world had undergone a quick change. Here was he, the
recalcitrant, wavering on the point of playing for the school, and here
was Psmith, the last person whom he would have expected to be a player,
stating calmly that he had been in the running for a place in the
Eton eleven.

Then in a flash Mike understood. He was not by nature intuitive, but he
read Psmith's mind now. Since the term began, he and Psmith had been
acting on precisely similar motives. Just as he had been disappointed of
the captaincy of cricket at Wrykyn, so had Psmith been disappointed of
his place in the Eton team at Lord's. And they had both worked it off,
each in his own way--Mike sullenly, Psmith whimsically, according to
their respective natures--on Sedleigh.

If Psmith, therefore, did not consider it too much of a climb-down to
renounce his resolution not to play for Sedleigh, there was nothing to
stop Mike doing so, as--at the bottom of his heart--he wanted to do.

"By Jove," he said, "if you're playing, I'll play. I'll write a note to
Adair now. But, I say"--he stopped--"I'm hanged if I'm going to turn out
and field before breakfast tomorrow."

"That's all right. You won't have to. Adair won't be there himself. He's
not playing against the M.C.C. He's sprained his wrist."

27

IN WHICH PEACE IS DECLARED

"Sprained his wrist?" said Mike. "How did he do that?"

"During the brawl. Apparently one of his efforts got home on your elbow
instead of your expressive countenanc