" said Arthur, a good deal impressed.

"Yes," said Dig jocularly, already fumbling the ten-and-six in
anticipation in his pocket. "Any muff can get round Arthur."

It was an unlucky jest, if the baronet's object was to decide his friend
in favour of the proposal. For Arthur coloured up and took his hand out
of his pocket.

"Wait till to-morrow," said he again.

"Dig, you'll give your name now, won't you?" said Simson.

"Don't know," said Dig evasively; "better not stick it down, that is,
not unless the list gets full up, you know."

Simson treated this evasive reply as a consent, and wrote Digs name
down, there and then, in his presence.

"Come on, Herapath," said he, making a last appeal. "Don't desert your
old friends."

"I tell you I can't say anything till to-morrow," said Arthur, a little
crusty.

Simson gave it up and departed.

"Felgate seems to be bowling wide just now," observed Dig. "I shouldn't
have fancied he'd have gone in for this sort of thing."

"Why shouldn't he, just as much as you?" growled Arthur.

"I? I haven't gone in for it yet."

"Oh yes, you have; your name's down."

"Only as last man in, though, in case he should get filled up."

"Doesn't matter whether you go in first or last, you're in the game."

"Well," said Dig resignedly, "I don't think I am, really; but if I am, I
hope I get Roaring Tommy."

Simson had not much difficulty in filling up his list. The specious
pretext of the postage-stamps did not delude many, but Felgate's name
worked wonders. Felgate had had no intention of allowing his name to be
used, and was indeed in blissful ignorance that his support was
generally known. He had in a reckless way expressed his sympathy with
what he chose to term a very innocent "round game," and had given
practical proof of his sympathy by buying a ticket. That was yesterday,
and he had since forgotten the whole affair, and was quietly looking
about him for some new way of wiping off the rapidly-accumulating score
against Railsford and his lieutenant Ainger.

After his rebuff about the compulsory cricket--which, fortunately, no
one but the captain (who was not the man to say much about it) had
witnessed--Felgate had retired for a time into comparative seclusion.
He believed in his lucky star, and hoped there was a good time coming.
He still had his trump card in hand, but if he could win his trick
without it he would be so much to the good.

Arthur, when, on the day