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Wodehouse, P. G. (Pelham Grenville), 1881-1975

"Mike"

I didn't know you were a
regular member of the team. What bad luck. Will you get another
chance?"
"Depends on Bob."
"Has Bob got your place?"
Mike nodded.
"If he does well to-day, they'll probably keep him in."
"Isn't there room for both of you?"
"Such a lot of old colours. There are only three vacancies, and
Henfrey got one of those a week ago. I expect they'll give one of the
other two to a bowler, Neville-Smith, I should think, if he does well
against Geddington. Then there'll be only the last place left."
"Rather awkward, that."
"Still, it's Bob's last year. I've got plenty of time. But I wish I
could get in this year."
After they had watched the match for an hour, Uncle John's restless
nature asserted itself.
"Suppose we go for a pull on the river now?" he suggested.
They got up.
"Let's just call at the shop," said Mike. "There ought to be a
telegram from Geddington by this time. I wonder how Bob's got on."
Apparently Bob had not had a chance yet of distinguishing himself. The
telegram read, "Geddington 151 for four. Lunch."
"Not bad that," said Mike. "But I believe they're weak in bowling."
They walked down the road towards the school landing-stage.
"The worst of a school," said Uncle John, as he pulled up-stream with
strong, unskilful stroke, "is that one isn't allowed to smoke on the
grounds.


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