CHAPTER XII.
THE WRAXBY MATCH.
Wednesday, the twenty-fourth of July, saw the whole of Ronleigh College in a state of bustle and excitement.

The near approach of the holidays was sufficient in itself to put every one in high spirits, while, in addition to this, the afternoon was to witness the chief cricket contest of the season--the annual match against Wraxby Grammar School.

During the hour before dinner the ground itself was a scene of brisk activity: the school colours flew at the summit of the flagstaff; the boundary flags fluttered in the breeze; a number of willing hands, under the direction of Allingford, put a finishing touch to the pitch with the big roller, while others assisted in rigging up the two screens of white canvas in line with the wickets.
"I do hope we lick them," said little "Rats" to Jack Vance as they stood by the pavilion, watching Oaks mixing some whiting for the creases; "we _must_ somehow or other." "Why ?" "Why?
because they've beaten us now three times running; and the last time when our chaps went over to Wraxby and got licked at footer their captain asked Ally if in future we should like to play a master! Such rot!" continued the youthful "Rats," boiling with wrath; "as if we couldn't smash them without! Look here, I'd give--I'd give sixpence if we could win!" and with this burst of patriotic enthusiasm the speaker hurried away to join Maxton, who, with an old sprung racquet in one hand and the inside of an exploded cricket-ball in the other, was calling to him from the adjoining playing field to "Come and play tip and run, and bring something that'll do for a wicket." The feelings expressed by "Rats" as regards the result of the match were shared by the whole school, and by none more so than the members of the Third Form.
"The Happy Family" turned up to a man, and encamped _en masse_ upon the turf within twenty yards of the pavilion.

Bibbs was the last to arrive on the scene of action, and did so with a bag of sweets in one hand, a book in the other, and a piece of paper, pinned by some joker to the tail of his coat, bearing the legend, "Please to kick me"-- a request which was immediately responded to in a most hearty and generous fashion by all present.
Kicking the unfortunate Bibbs afforded every one such exquisite enjoyment that an effort was made to prolong the pastime by forcible attempts to fasten the placard on to other members of the company, and a general _melee_, would have followed if the attention of the combatants had not been attracted in another direction.

Ronleigh having won the toss and elected to go in first, the Wraxby men strolled out of the pavilion to take the field.
They were a likely-looking lot of fellows--the faded flannel caps and careless way in which they sauntered towards the pitch proclaiming the fact that each one was a veteran player.
"That chap with the wicket-keeping gloves in his hand is Partridge, their captain," said Carton; "and that fellow who's putting out the single stump to bowl at is Austin.