sixpence, one week's rent in advance, he was presented with a grubby
receipt and an enormous latchkey, and the _seance_ was at an end.
Mike wandered out of the house. A few steps took him to the railings
that bounded the College grounds. It was late August, and the evenings
had begun to close in. The cricket-field looked very cool and spacious
in the dim light, with the school buildings looming vague and shadowy
through the slight mist. The little gate by the railway bridge was not
locked. He went in, and walked slowly across the turf towards the big
clump of trees which marked the division between the cricket and
football fields. It was all very pleasant and soothing after the
pantomime dame and her stuffy bed-sitting room. He sat down on a bench
beside the second eleven telegraph-board, and looked across the ground
at the pavilion. For the first time that day he began to feel really
home-sick. Up till now the excitement of a strange venture had borne
him up; but the cricket-field and the pavilion reminded him so sharply
of Wrykyn. They brought home to him with a cutting distinctness, the
absolute finality of his break with the old order of things. Summers
would come and go, matches would be played on this ground with all the
glory of big scores and keen finishes; but he was done. 'He was a jolly
good bat at school. Top of the Wrykyn averages two years. But didn't do
anything after he left. Went into the city or something.' That was what
they would say of him, if they didn't quite forget him.

The clock on the tower over the senior block chimed quarter after
quarter, but Mike sat on, thinking. It was quite late when he got up,
and began to walk back to Acacia Road. He felt cold and stiff and very
miserable.