Part 9 (2/2)

As for d.i.c.k, he had smoothed out a few of the more important mountain-ranges which marred the smoothness of the wicket, and was feeling that all was right with the world.

The pair started well. The demon bowler of the enemy, having been feted considerably under the trees by enthusiastic admirers during the innings of his side, was a little incoherent in his deliveries. Four full-pitches did he send down to d.i.c.k in his first over, and d.i.c.k had placed 16 to his credit before Tom, who had had to look on anxiously, had opened his account. d.i.c.k was a slow scorer as a rule, but he knew a full-pitch to leg when he saw one.

From his place at the other crease Tom could see Miss Burn and her mother sitting under the trees, watching the game.

The sight nerved him. By the time he had played through his first over he had reduced d.i.c.k's lead by half. An oyster would have hit out in such circ.u.mstances, and Tom was always an aggressive batsman. By the end of the third over the scores were level. Each had made 20.

Enthusiasm ran high amongst the spectators, or such of them as were natives of the village. Such a stand for the first wicket had not been seen in all the matches ever played in the neighbourhood. When Tom, with a nice straight drive (which should have been a 4, but was stopped by a cow and turned into a single), brought up the century, small boys burst b.u.t.tons and octogenarians wept like babes.

The bowling was collared. The demon had long since retired grumbling to the deep field. Weird trundlers, with actions like nothing else on earth, had been tried, had fired their ringing shot, and pa.s.sed. One individual had gone on with lobs, to the acute delight of everybody except the fieldsmen who had to retrieve the b.a.l.l.s and the above-mentioned cow. And still Tom and d.i.c.k stayed in and smote, while in the west the sun slowly sank.

The Rev. Henry looked anxious. It was magnificent, but it must not be overdone. A little more and they would not have time to get the foe out for the second time. In which case the latter would win on the first innings. And this thought was as gall to him.

He walked out and addressed the rival captain.

”I think,” said he, ”we will close our innings.”

Tom and d.i.c.k made two bee-lines for the scorer and waited palpitatingly for the verdict.

”What's my score?” panted Tom.

”Fifty-fower, sur.”

”And mine?” gasped d.i.c.k.

”Fifty-fower, too, sur.”

”You see, my dear fellows,” said the Rev. Henry when they had finished--and his voice was like unto oil that is poured into a wound--”we had to win this match, and if you had gone on batting we should not have had time to get them out. As it is, we shall have to hurry.”

”But, hang it----” said Tom.

”But, look here----” said d.i.c.k.

”Yes?”

”What on earth are we to do?” said Tom.

”We're in precisely the same hole as we were before,” said d.i.c.k.

”We don't know how to manage it.”

”We're absolutely bunkered.”

”Our compet.i.tion, you see.”

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