the day he was
called "old butter-fingers" in a game in which he showed especial
incapacity to catch the ball. He began by mastering that; whenever he
could he got fellows to give him catches. He practised throwing the
ball up in the air and catching it again. When he went home for the
holidays he would carry a tennis-ball in his pocket, and take every
opportunity of throwing it against a wall and taking it at the rebound
with both hands, with the right hand, and with the left. At last he got
quite dexterous--and sinistrous, too, for that matter.

But the mere fact of being able to manipulate the ball smartly, though
it is of supreme importance in cricket, would never gain him admission
into the eleven of his house, let alone that of the school. For that,
as he well knew, he must cultivate a speciality, and he decided upon
bowling. Wicket-keeping could only be practised in a regular game, and
no side would agree to let him fill the post--it was not likely.
Batting everyone wanted to practise, and it would be very rarely that he
would be able to get a good bowler to bowl for him. There was a
professional, indeed, who was always in the cricket-fields during the
season, but his services were generally in request, and, besides, they
were expensive, and Tom Buller had not much pocket-money. But there was
almost always some fellow who was glad to get balls given to him, and,
if not, you can set a stump up in front of a net and bowl at that.

To have worked all this out in his mind did not look like lack of
intelligence or observation, and to act upon it steadily, without saying
a word about it to anybody, showed considerable steadfastness and
resolution. He now put his algebra and papers into his bureau, took out
his cricket-ball and ran down-stairs and round to the fields. At first
it seemed as if he would be obliged to have recourse to his solitary
stump, for, it being the Saturday half-holiday, there were two matches
going on, and those present not taking part in them were playing lawn-
tennis. But presently he espied Robarts, who had been in and out again
in the game he was engaged in, and was now waiting for the innings of
his side to be over, standing in front of a net, bat in hand, with two
boys bowling to him.

"May I give you a ball, Robarts?" he asked.

"Of course you may, Buller; the more the merrier," was the reply; "only,
if you are so wide as to miss the net, you must go after the ball
yourself."