It was early in the Easter holidays, but already he was
beginning to find his form. Saunders, who looked on Mike as his own
special invention, was delighted.
"If you don't be worried by being too anxious now that you're captain,
Master Mike," he said, "you'll make a century every match next term."
"I wish I wasn't; it's a beastly responsibility."
Henfrey, the Wrykyn cricket captain of the previous season, was not
returning next term, and Mike was to reign in his stead. He liked the
prospect, but it certainly carried with it a rather awe-inspiring
responsibility. At night sometimes he would lie awake, appalled by the
fear of losing his form, or making a hash of things by choosing the
wrong men to play for the school and leaving the right men out. It is no
light thing to captain a public school at cricket.
As he was walking toward the house, Phyllis met him. "Oh, I've been
hunting for you, Mike; Father wants you."
"What for?"
"I don't know."
"Where?"
"He's in the study. He seems ..." added Phyllis, throwing in the
information by a way of a makeweight, "in a beastly temper."
Mike's jaw fell slightly. "I hope the dickens it's nothing to do with
that bally report," was his muttered exclamation.
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