When Edward Anderson, Axworthy, and their set, broke through rules, it was with the understanding that the second boy in the school would support them, if he durst.
The summer and the cricket season brought the battle of Ballhatchet's house to issue.

The cricket ground was the field close to it, and for the last two or three years there had been a frequent custom of despatching juniors to his house for tarts and ginger-beer bottles.
Norman knew of instances last year in which this had led to serious mischief, and had made up his mind that, at whatever loss of popularity, it was his duty to put a stop to the practice.
He was an ardent cricketer himself, and though the game did not, in anticipation, seem to him to have all the charms of last year, he entered into it with full zest when once engaged.

But his eye was on all parts of the field, and especially on the corner by the bridge, and the boys knew him well enough to attempt nothing unlawful within the range of that glance.

However, the constant vigilance was a strain too great to be always kept up, and he had reason to believe he was eluded more than once.
At last came a capture, something like that of Tom, one which he could not have well avoided making.

The victim was George Larkins, the son of a clergyman in the neighbourhood, a wild, merry varlet, who got into mischief rather for the sake of the fun than from any bad disposition.
His look of consternation was exaggerated into a most comical caricature, in order to hide how much of it was real.
"So you are at that trick, Larkins." "There! that bet is lost!" exclaimed Larkins.