On the following day, at nine o'clock, the term formally began. There
is nothing of Black Monday about the first day of term at a public
school. Black Monday is essentially a private school institution.

At Beckford the first day of every term was a half holiday. During the
morning a feeble pretence of work was kept up, but after lunch the
school was free, to do as it pleased and to go where it liked. The nets
were put up for the first time, and the School professional emerged at
last from his winter retirement with his, 'Coom _right_ out to
'em, sir, right forward', which had helped so many Beckford cricketers
to do their duty by the School in the field. There was one net for the
elect, the remnants of last year's Eleven and the 'probables' for this
season, and half a dozen more for lesser lights.

At the first net Norris was batting to the bowling of Gosling, a long,
thin day boy, Gethryn, and the professional--as useful a trio as any
school batsman could wish for. Norris was captain of the team this
year, a sound, stylish bat, with a stroke after the manner of Tyldesley
between cover and mid-off, which used to make Miles the professional
almost weep with joy. But today he had evidently not quite got into
form. Twice in successive balls Gosling knocked his leg stump out of
the ground with yorkers, and the ball after that, Gethryn upset his
middle with a beauty.

'Hat-trick, Norris,' shouted Gosling.

'Can't see 'em a bit today. Bowled, Bishop.'

A second teaser from Gethryn had almost got through his defence. The