captain of the team five years before, had thought so most decidedly,
and had not hesitated to say so when Pringle, then in his first term
and aged twelve, had stood behind the First Eleven net and requested
him peremptorily to 'keep 'em down, sir, keep 'em down'. Indeed, the
great man had very nearly had a fit on that occasion, and was wont
afterwards to attribute to the effects of the shock so received a
sequence of three 'ducks' which befell him in the next three matches.

In short, in every department of life, Pringle's advice was always (and
generally unsought) at everybody's disposal. To round the position off
neatly, it would be necessary to picture him as a total failure in the
practical side of all the subjects in which he was so brilliant a
theorist. Strangely enough, however, this was not the case. There were
few better bats in the School than Pringle. Norris on his day was more
stylish, and Marriott not infrequently made more runs, but for
consistency Pringle was unrivalled.

That was partly the reason why at this time he was feeling pleased with
life. The School had played three matches up to date, and had won them
all. In the first, an Oxford college team, containing several Old
Beckfordians, had been met and routed, Pringle contributing thirty-one
to a total of three hundred odd. But Norris had made a century, which
had rather diverted the public eye from this performance. Then the
School had played the Emeriti, and had won again quite comfortably.
This time his score had been forty-one, useful, but still not
phenomenal. Then in the third match, _versus_ Charchester, one of
the big school matches of the season, he had found himself. He ran up a
hundred and twenty-three without a chance, and felt that life had
little more to offer. That had been only a week ago, and the glow of
satisfaction was still pleasantly warm.