'Are you not aware, madam, that every Harrow boy should be ready to shed his last drop of blood in the service of his school?'
In the playing field.
The captain of the eleven.
"One of the most tragic deaths I ever heard of happened in this very cricket field," the Head Master said, very quietly. "A boy was umpiring. A ball was hit to short leg; he was unable to stop it, and it hit him behind the ear. There was just time to take him off the field before he died. It only wanted a fortnight to the match at Lord's, and he was to have played in the eleven. The captain of the eleven sent the cricket cap he would have worn to the poor boy's mother, and it was buried with him."
Being left alone for a few minutes, I met the captain of the school eleven—Mr. M. Y. Barlow. He was sketched at the telegraphic board. The figures stand for what he would like to see at Lord's. Mr. B. N. Bosworth-Smith, son of the biographer of Lord Lawrence, and the head boy of the School, also stood to the artist, and a group of Harrow boys willingly submitted. In this group is a Harrovian—a great favourite at the School—who should be peculiarly interesting to the readers of The Strand Magazine. In the white lining of his straw hat is a
