about."

"Of course he did," sneered Braddy; "he knew jolly well what he was
about."

"Dear me! Is that you, Mr Braddy? I had not noticed you here, or I
should not have ventured to speak on a matter having to do with pluck
and heroism. I'm glad you agree with me, though, although I didn't say
he knew _jolly_ well what he was about. That is an expression of your
own."

Braddy, who as usual felt and looked extinguished when Pembury made fun
of him, retired sulkily, and the editor of the _Dominican_ thereupon
turned his attack on another quarter. And so the dispute went on,
neither party being convinced, and all satisfied only on one point--that
a cloud had arisen to mar the hitherto peaceful horizon of Fifth Form
existence.

The cricket match of the following day, however, served to divert the
thoughts of all parties for a time.

As it was only the prelude to a much more important match shortly to
follow, I shall not attempt to describe it fully here, as the reader
will probably be far more interested in the incidents of Sixth versus
School Match when it comes off.

The Alphabet Match was, to tell the truth, not nearly as interesting an
affair as it promised to be, for from the very first the N's to Z's had
the best of it. Stephen, who with a company of fellow-Tadpoles and
Guinea-pigs was perched on the palings, looking on, felt his heart sink
within him as first one and then another of his brother's side lost
their wickets without runs. For once he and Bramble were in sympathy,
and he and Paul were at difference. The row these small boys kicked up,
by the way, was one of the most notable features of the whole match.
Every one of them yelled for his own side. There had, indeed, been a
question whether every Guinea-pig, whatever his private initial, ought
not to yell for the G's, and every Tadpole for the T's; but it was
eventually decided that each should yell "on his own hook," and the
effect was certainly far more diverting.

The first four men of the A to M went out for two runs between them, and
Stephen and Bramble sat in gloomy despair. The next man in knocked down
his wicket before he had played a single ball. It was frightful, and
the jeers of the Z's were hateful to hear.

But Stephen brightened as he perceived that the next batsman was his
brother. "Now they'll pick up!" said he.

"No they won't! Greenfield senior skies his balls too much for my
taste," cheeringly replied the small Brambl