"
"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 towards 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 way of a make-weight, "in a beastly wax."
Mike's jaw fell slightly. "I hope the dickens it's nothing to do with
that bally report," was his muttered exclamation.
Mike's dealings with his father were as a rule of a most pleasant
nature. Mr. Jackson was an understanding sort of man, who treated his
sons as companions. From time to time, however, breezes were apt to
ruffle the placid sea of good-fellowship. Mike's end-of-term report
was an unfailing wind-raiser; indeed, on the arrival of Mr. Blake's
sarcastic _resume_ of Mike's short-comings at the end of the
previous term, there had been something not unlike a typhoon.
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