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Will Brown’s words made Edgar feel uneasy for a time, but he soon forgot them. It was universally agreed that a better eleven could not have been chosen to meet Fairfield College. Masters were not to play; it was to be purely a boys’ match.

Early and late Edgar was at the cricket nets watching the practice and debating how he should send his team in to bat. For such a young lad, he had keen powers of observation, and he made a pretty accurate calculation as to the pluck and nerve of each boy. Edgar’s father arrived the day before the match, and saw the final practice.

‘You have a real good team,’ he said to his son, ‘and ought to win. Remember, a good deal depends upon the captain.’

‘I’m not likely to forget that,’ said Edgar. ‘You have often told me a good captain wins many a game at cricket.’

Robert Foster was proud of his son, and naturally felt anxious to see him successful.

‘How’s my lad doing?’ he had said to the head-master.

‘Well—very well,’ said Dr. Hook. ‘He is not a brilliant scholar, but he will get on in the world. He is like his father in one respect. He is about the best cricketer and all-round athlete we have in the school.’