David Blaize by E.F. Benson — Read

David was sitting on the bank below the pavilion on the last afternoon of the term, waiting for Frank, who was paying certain bills in the town, to join him, and take his cricket things away. To save time, David had packed them for him, emptying his locker into his cricket-bag, and now it and his own, ready packed, lay beside him on the grass. The plan was to sit here and talk till chapel-bell began, when they would take their belongings down and leave them at the lodge in readiness for the 'bus to the station next morning. It was their last opportunity of being alone together, for after chapel they would have to go down to their house to dress for concert, and after concert was the house-supper in honour of their having won the cricket-cup. It would all be exceedingly public and rejoiceful, and Frank would have to make a speech, and David was afraid he would want to groan again instead of applauding, which was quite out of the question, as the occasion was one of uproarious mirth.

The last five weeks had passed with awful speed; he had worked a good deal, he had played cricket a good deal, and, though he had not got into the eleven, everything had been tremendously prosperous. He had been tried twice for the eleven, once against the next sixteen, once against a team of old boys from Cambridge, and in both matches he had bowled with considerable success. But then the weather had changed, and instead of the dry, crumbling wickets which suited him, there had been ten days' rain; wickets were soft and slow, and certainly would be for the match at Lords the day after to-morrow, and David had become about as much use as a practical bowler as a baby-in-arms would have been. So Crawley, only this morning, had been given the last place in the eleven, which was absolutely all right, for Crawley could bat as well, and in the last school match had both taken wickets and made runs, the slow ground suiting his style in both respects.