alter it."

They dashed out of the room. From down the passage Mike heard yells of
"_Barnes_!" the closing of a door, and a murmur of excited conversation.
Then footsteps returning down the passage.

Barnes appeared, on his face the look of one who has seen visions.

"I say," he said, "is it true? Or is Stone rotting? About Wrykyn, I
mean."

"Yes, I was in the team."

Barnes was an enthusiastic cricketer. He studied his _Wisden_, and he
had an immense respect for Wrykyn cricket.

"Are you the M. Jackson, then, who had an average of fifty-one point
naught three last year?"

"Yes."

Barnes's manner became like that of a curate talking to a bishop.

"I say," he said, "then--er--will you play against Downing's tomorrow?"

"Rather," said Mike. "Thanks awfully. Have some tea?"



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