thou dare at such a moment as this to attack
thine enemy with a--long hop?

The square, thick-set bowler shows his teeth as the ball pitches short.
Then he smites and runs. Runs, because he has smitten so hard that no
hand, surely, can stop the whirling sphere. Runs--ay--and so does the
Demon at cover point. This is the Demon's amazing conjuring-trick--what
else can you call it? And he has practised it so often, that he reckons
failure to be almost impossible. To those watching he seems to spring
like a tiger at the ball. By Heaven! he has stopped it--he's snapped it
up! But if he despatches it to the wicket-keeper, it will arrive too
late. The other Etonian is already within a couple of yards of the
crease. Scaife does not hesitate. He aims at the bowler's wicket towards
which the burly one is running as fast as legs a thought too short can
carry him.

He aims and shies--instantaneously. He shatters the wicket.

"How's that?"

The appeal comes from every part of the ground.

And then, clearly and unmistakably, the umpire's fiat is spoken--

"Out!"

The Rev. Sep rises and rushes off, upsetting chairs, treading on toes,
bent only upon being the first to tell Warde that Harrow has won.

"_Io! Io! Io!_"

FOOTNOTES:

[36] The blue of the Harrow colours.

[37] Lamper, _i.e._ Lamp-post.

CHAPTER XIII

_"If I perish, I perish"_

"Since we deserved the name of friends,
And thine effect so lives in me,
A part of mine may live in thee
And move thee on to noble ends."

The cheering at Bill upon the following Tuesday must be recorded,
inasmuch as it has, indirectly, bearing upon our story. It will be
guessed that the enthusiasm, the uproar, the tumultuous excitement were
even greater than on a similar occasion some fifteen years before. But,
to his amazement, Desmond, not Scaife, was made the particular hero of
the hour. Scaife's display of temper festered in the hearts of boys who
can forgive anything sooner than low breeding. The Hill had seen the
Etonian stop to speak his cheery word of congratulation to Caesar, and
not the Caterpillar alone, but urchins of thirteen had made comparisons.

Scaife, however, could not complain of his reception upon that memorable
Tuesday afternoon; the cheering must have been heard a mile away. But
Desmond was acclaimed differently. The cheers were no louder--that was
impossible--but afterwards, when the excitement had simmered down, Caesar
beca