On the Monday morning Norris returned to Jephson's, with pride in his
heart and a sovereign in his pocket, the latter the gift of his
excellent uncle.

He had had, he freely admitted to himself, a good time. His uncle had
done him well, exceedingly well, and he looked forward to going to the
show-place again in the near future. In the meantime he felt a languid
desire to know how the House match was going on. They must almost have
finished the first innings, he thought--unless Jephson's had run up a
very big score, and kept their opponents in the field all the
afternoon.

'Hullo, Baker,' he said, tramping breezily into the study, 'I've had
the time of a lifetime. Great, simply! No other word for it. How's the
match getting on?'

Baker looked up from the book he was reading.

'What match?' he enquired coldly.

'House match, of course, you lunatic. What match did you think I meant?
How's it going on?'

'It's not going on,' said Baker, 'it's stopped.'

'You needn't be a funny goat,' said Norris complainingly. 'You know
what I mean. What happened on Saturday?'

'They won the toss,' began Baker slowly.