She had adopted him at an early age, and did the thing
thoroughly. She was fond of her other brothers, especially when they
made centuries in first-class cricket, but Mike was her favorite. She
would field out in the deep as a natural thing when Mike was batting at
the net in the paddock, though for the others, even for Joe, who had
played in all five Test Matches in the previous summer, she would do it
only as a favor.
Phyllis and Ella finished their dispute and went out. Marjory sat on the
table and watched Mike eat.
"Your report came this morning, Mike," she said.
The kidneys failed to retain Mike's undivided attention. He looked up
interested. "What did it say?"
"I didn't see--I only caught sight of the Wrykyn crest on the envelope.
Father didn't say anything."
Mike seemed concerned. "I say, that looks rather rotten! I wonder if it
was awfully bad. It's the first I've had from Appleby."
"It can't be any worse than the horrid ones Mr. Blake used to write when
you were in his form."
"No, that's a comfort," said Mike philosophically. "Think there's any
more tea in that pot?"
"I call it a shame," said Marjory; "they ought to be jolly glad to have
you at Wrykyn just for cricket, instead of writing beastly reports that
make father angry and don't do any good to anybody.
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