"Ah, I'm not saying it mightn't be, miss. I was only saying don't
count on it, so you won't be disappointed if it doesn't happen. It's
quite likely that it will, only all I say is don't count on it. I only
hope that they won't knock all the style out of him before they're
done with him. You know these school professionals, miss."

"No, I don't, Saunders. What are they like?"

"Well, there's too much of the come-right-out-at-everything about 'em
for my taste. Seem to think playing forward the alpha and omugger of
batting. They'll make him pat balls back to the bowler which he'd cut
for twos and threes if he was left to himself. Still, we'll hope for
the best, miss. Ready, Master Mike? Play."

As Saunders had said, it was all there. Of Mike's style there could be
no doubt. To-day, too, he was playing more strongly than usual.
Marjory had to run to the end of the meadow to fetch one straight
drive. "He hit that hard enough, didn't he, Saunders?" she asked, as
she returned the ball.

"If he could keep on doing ones like that, miss," said the
professional, "they'd have him in the team before you could say
knife."

Marjory sat down again beside the net, and watched more hopefully.




CHAPTER II