THE SEASON'S PROSPECTS


The great question in the Mallory family just now is whether Dick will
get into the eleven this year. Confident as he is himself, he is taking
no risks.

"We're going to put the net up to-morrow," he said to me as soon as I
arrived, "and then you'll be able to bowl to me. How long are you
staying?"

"Till to-night," I said quickly.

"Rot! You're fixed up here till Tuesday any how."

"My dear Dick, I've come down for a few days' rest. If the weather
permits, I may have the croquet things out one afternoon and try a round,
or possibly--"

"I don't believe you _can_ bowl," said Bobby rudely. Bobby is
twelve--five years younger than Dick. It is not my place to smack Bobby's
head, but _somebody_ might do it for him.

"Then that just shows how little you know about it," I retorted. "In a
match last September I went on to bowl--"

"Why?"