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He had got as far as finding that his quarry of the previous night was a boy in Mr. Outwood's house, but how was he to get any farther? That was the thing. There were, of course, only a limited number of boys in Mr. Outwood's house as tall as the one he had pursued; but even if there had been only one other, it would have complicated matters.
The first over was a maiden, six dangerous balls beautifully played. The fieldsmen changed over. The general interest had now settled on the match between Outwood's and Downing's. The facts in Mike's case had gone around the field, and, as several of the other games had not yet begun, quite a large crowd had collected near the pavilion to watch.
"There's a spot on the off which might help you a lot. You can break like blazes if only you land on it. It doesn't help my leg breaks a bit, because they won't hit at them." Barnes was on the point of beginning to bowl when Adair took the ball from him. The captain of Outwood's retired to short leg with an air that suggested that he was glad to be relieved of his prominent post.
Downing, a sort of high priest; under him was a captain, and under the captain a vice-captain. These two officials were those sportive allies, Stone and Robinson, of Outwood's house, who, having perceived at a very early date the gorgeous opportunities for ragging which the Brigade offered to its members, had joined young and worked their way up.
Outwood's house somewhere. A boy cannot tread in a pool of paint without showing some signs of having done so. It was Sunday, too, so that the shoe would not yet have been cleaned. Yoicks! Also tally-ho! This really was beginning to be something like business. Regardless of the heat, the sleuth-hound hurried across to Outwood's as fast as he could walk.
Outwood's at that moment saw what, if they had but known it, was a most unusual sight, the spectacle of Psmith running. Psmith's usual mode of progression was a dignified walk. He believed in the contemplative style rather than the hustling.
There could be no doubt that a paint-splashed boot must be in Mr. Outwood's house somewhere. A boy cannot tread in a pool of paint without showing some signs of having done so. It was Sunday, too, so that the boot would not yet have been cleaned. Yoicks! Also Tally-ho! This really was beginning to be something like business.
Scared by this escape, Outwood's captain shrank back into his shell, sat on the splice like a limpet, and, offering no more chances, was not out at lunchtime with a score of eleven. Mike had then made a hundred and three. As Mike was taking off his pads in the pavilion, Adair came up. "Why did you say you didn't play cricket?" he asked abruptly.
Barnes, the head of Outwood's, he who preferred not to interfere with Stone and Robinson, was a mild, rather timid-looking youth not unlike what Mr. Outwood must have been as a boy but he knew how to keep balls out of his wicket. He was a good bat of the old plodding type.
Spiller's hot Spanish blood is not going to sit tight and do nothing under a blow like this." "What can he do? Outwood's given us the study." "What would you have done if somebody had bagged your study?" "Made it jolly hot for them!" "So will Comrade Spiller. I take it that he will collect a gang and make an offensive movement against us directly he can.
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