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 benches is young Harrow, eagerly watching and waiting for every ball that leaves the bowler's hand, and every hit that comes from the striker's bat. But go on a little farther and you reach the pavilion. Here sit the two houses who are fighting with bat and ball today. You can easily tell the supporters of the two sides. Let the bowler deliver a good ball, and fifty voices at the pavilion go up in one great shout; but let the batsman make a grand drive, and the same fifty voices are silent, while the other half-hundred take up the shout. If you want to hear a real, unadulterated English shout, ask a Harrow boy to cheer; if you want a practical definition of enthusiasm, go to a Saturday afternoon match at Harrow.

Mr. Welldon and I sat down on one of the seats, whilst Scamp lay at his master's feet.

"We have fifteen clubs here," said Mr. Welldon, "and in a couple of years' time I venture to prophesy a score. The cricket at Harrow is practically looked after by friends, though the masters play their part as well. Lord Bessborough has trained young Harrovians to bat for the last fifty years; the late Mr. Grimston was seldom absent from the field, and to-day Mr. I. D. Walker is most enthusiastic in his batting and bowling lessons. I often have requests from the parents of boys to 'let them play cricket to their hearts' content,' and when the House of Commons is sitting, the ground is alive with M.P.'s on a Saturday afternoon—probably to see if I am carrying out their instructions. The big match at Lord's is systematically trained for. I always make a point of keeping the boys in school till eight o'clock on the morning of the Eton and Harrow match. It steadies them. You have only to look at that pavilion to know what the Harrow boys love. Hark at them now! Well hit!—well hit!"

Mr. Welldon himself had caught the spirit of enthusiasm, and his sudden shout told that the Head Master's love ran in the same direction as the boys'.

"In the old days at Lord's, on the occasion of the annual battle between the two great schools," he said, after watching a good four run out, "there were no ropes round the pitch to keep it clear. Once, one of our youngsters got a ball in the face, and his nose began to bleed. His mother, who was on the ground, rushed from her seat to her boy. The captain, with the utmost gravity and courtesy, turned to the lady, saying, as he ordered her off the ground: