He ought to have worn a hat. He made sure that Wilberforce caught sight of him, and then he set himself to observing the practice of Hazlehurst’s Upper School. Batting was not an exact science, and for the most part, if asked, John would have told them to carry on. The most essential factor in learning to do a thing well, he struggled to convince his pupils, was practicing the thing repeatedly over a long period. Youth was impatient and hungry for gratification, but if they weren’t prepared to hit fifty thousand balls, they would never get anywhere with a bat. Ditto with bowling and fielding. But batting practice at the Academy was an unserious affair, something they did amidst banal adolescent chatter. John watched from a distance and evaluated each boy’s stroke. A few attracted his attention for their obvious flaws. He took out a snub pencil and notebook and listed the boys whose batting needed adjustment sharpish; there were four in addition to Wilberforce. Beginning with the easiest, he sidled up to Colin Frick, who regarded him warily but appeared faintly intrigued by John’s suggestions.
