Читать книгу A Lad of Mettle онлайн

32 страница из 64

‘If Edgar can only manage to hit a three,’ said Will Brown, ‘then we shall be all right. He’s done wonders, considering everything.’

The next ball Edgar could do nothing with. It puzzled him, and nearly got past his bat.

Then came a comparatively easy ball, and Edgar lifted it over the ropes, amidst a perfect hurricane of cheers. This hit won the match, and the Redbank boys rushed wildly over the ground and, surrounding Edgar, bore him shoulder-high to the pavilion. It was a scene seldom witnessed even on this famous school-ground, and as Edgar’s father looked on he felt the moisture well up into his eyes, and his heart beat with pride. He knew what this moment of triumph would mean to his son, and he gloried in it. He made his way to the dressing-room, and as he came the boys stood on one side and cheered him again and again. They were proud of the father and proud of the son, and were not slow to show it.

‘Splendidly done, my lad!’ said Robert Foster, as he placed his hand on Edgar’s shoulder. ‘It was a plucky, uphill fight, and your schoolfellows are enthusiastic about it. I never saw you play a steadier or better game.’