Gone like some beautiful flower that withers in
the night."
"But you told me you didn't like cricket. You said you only liked
watching it."
"Quite right. I do. But at schools where cricket is compulsory you have
to overcome your private prejudices. And in time the thing becomes a
habit. Imagine my feelings when I found that I was degenerating, little
by little, into a slow left-hand bowler with a swerve. I fought against
it, but it was useless, and after a while I gave up the struggle, and
drifted with the stream. Last year in a house match"--Psmith's voice
took on a deeper tone of melancholy--"I took seven for thirteen in the
second innings on a hard wicket. I did think, when I came here, that I
had found a haven of rest, but it was not to be. I turn out tomorrow.
What Comrade Outwood will say, when he finds that his keenest
archaeological disciple has deserted, I hate to think. However ..."
Mike felt as if a young and powerful earthquake had passed. The whole
face of his world had undergone a quick change. Here was he, the
recalcitrant, wavering on the point of playing for the school, and here
was Psmith, the last person whom he would have expected to be a player,
stating calmly that he had been in the running for a place in the
Eton eleven.
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