CUNJEE v. MULGOA
I remember
What it was to be young, and glad, and strong,
By a creek that rippled the whole day long.
M. FORREST.
There was no doubt whatever that the heat was, as Jim had prophesied,
"a caution." Pretty little Mrs. Anderson, walking down to the cricket
ground at Cunjee, between Jim and Cecil, inwardly wondered what had
made her come out of her cool, shaded house to encounter so scorching a
sun--with nothing ahead but a bush cricket match. However, Cunjee was no
more lively than other townships of its class, and even a match was
something. Besides, her husband was playing, and the Billabong
contingent, who did not seem to mind the heat at all, had arrived full
of most infectious high spirits, filling her house with a cheerful
atmosphere of youth and jollity. Norah had at once succumbed to the
charms of the baby, and as the baby seemed similarly impressed with
Norah, it had been hard to remove him from her arms even for purposes
of nourishment for either. She had quite seriously proposed to take him
to the match, and had been a little grieved when his mother hastily
vetoed the proposition. As mother of three babies, Mrs. Anderson knew
precisely their worth at an entertainment--particularly on a hot day.
Even Cecil was more than usually inclined to be--if not happy, at least
less bored; although he had begun the day badly, and considered himself
scarcely on speaking terms with Jim. This attitude was somewhat
difficult to sustain, because Jim himself ignored it cheerfully, and
addressed to his cousin whatever remarks came into his head--which Cecil
privately considered a demeanour showing the worst of taste.
Bobs had been the "unhappy cause of all this discord." The bay pony was
always an object of envy to Cecil, and in his heart he was determined
to ride him before leaving Billabong. Particularly he coveted him for
the ride into Cunjee. It was bad enough, he considered, to be condemned
to Brown Betty in the paddocks, but she was certainly not stylish
enough to please him when it came to a township expedition. So he had
sauntered out when the horses were being saddled, and delicately hinted
to Jim that he might ride Bobs.
Jim, wrestling with Garryowen's girth, had found it the easiest way out
of the difficulty to avoid hearing the hint--which he considered "like
Cecil's cheek," and as nothing short of Norah's own command would have
induced him to accede to it, silence seemed the better plan. Cecil had
waited a moment until his head came up from under the saddle flap, and
repeated his remark.
"Afraid not," said Jim, driven to bay, and speaking shortly to cover
his annoyance. "Norah's going to ride him herself." He led Garryowen
off to tie him under the shade of the pepper trees, and did not return
to saddle Bobs until Cecil had retreated to the house, looking very
black.
This little incident--which Jim had not thought is necessary to report
to Norah--had slightly marred the harmony of the early morning. But
Jim's unfailing good humour make it hard to keep up a grievance, and if
Betty were not exactly stylish, her paces were good enough to make her
rider enjoy the trip into Cunjee, especially as Wally and Norah were in
the best of spirits and kept things going with a will. Then had come
lunch at the Andersons', an occasion which called all Cecil's reserve
powers into play. Mrs. Anderson was pretty and smart, and he assumed
his best society manner in talking to her, monopolized most of the
conversation and flattered himself on making a distinct impression on
his country hostess. Possibly he would have been pained had he heard
Mrs. Anderson's remark to her husband while putting on her hat after
lunch.
"Did you ever see such a contrast, Jack?" she asked--"that conceited
boy, and those nice Grammar School youngsters--they're so jolly and
unaffected!" To which the doctor had responded that if he had his way
he'd boil Cecil, and it was time she had that veil fixed--and had led
her forth, protesting that "half the pins weren't in!"
Cecil, however, knew nothing of these comments, and was very well
satisfied with himself as they walked slowly along the lane leading to
the cricket ground. Jim, on the other side of Mrs. Anderson, tall and
handsome in his flannels, with his white hat pulled over his eyes,
discoursed cheerfully of school matches, and promised them something
worth seeing if young Wally got going with the bat--conversation which
did not interest Cecil, who turned it as speedily as might be to
matters more to his taste, whereat Jim grew silent, listening with a
smile hovering on his well-cut mouth to society doing in the city, told
with a view to impressing his hearers with a sense of the narrator's
own important share therein. Once Mrs. Anderson met Jim's eye in a
brief glance, and reflected the smile momentarily. Behind them, Norah,
Wally, and the little doctor kept up a flow of chatter which Wally
described as "quite idiotic and awfully comfortable!" The party arrived
at the cricket ground on very good terms with itself.
The ground boasted no pavilion save a shed used for the preparation of
afternoon tea--a building of which the extreme heat made it almost
possible to boil the kettle without lighting a fire! Naturally, no one
used it for purposes of watching the play, but there was a row of
wattle trees along one side of the ground, and seats placed in their
shade made an excellent natural grand stand. Here the non-players
betook themselves, while the doctor and the two boys went off to the
spot where already most of the other players were gathered--a lean-to
under a huge gum-tree, used as a dressing-room by most of the
combatants, a number of whom arrived on horseback from long distances.
The Billabong boys had changed at the hotel, after putting up their
horses, and before repairing to the Andersons', so that they had no
dressing to do--which was more than fortunate for them, since the
lean-to was so thick with men, boys, valises, discarded garments,
leggings and boots, that it resembled a hive in a strong state of
disorganization.
Finally, the men were ready; a somewhat motley crowd--not more than
seven or eight in flannels, while the remainder were in ordinary dress,
with occasionally riding breeches and leggings to be seen, and not a
few football jerseys. The Mulgoa men, on being mustered, were found to
be a man short, while Cunjee had one to the good. So Murty O'Toole, to
his intense disgust, was solemnly handed over to Mulgoa. Then Dr.
Anderson, who captained Cunjee, won the toss, and Murty took the field
along with his new allies, amid heartless jeers from Mr. Boone, smoking
comfortably under a tree, who desired to know should he fetch Mr.
O'Toole an umbrella?
The story in detail of a cricket match is generally of particular
interest to those who have been there; and as, unfortunately, the
number of spectators of the famous battle between Cunjee and Mulgoa was
limited, little would be served by an exhaustive description of each
over bowled on that day of relentless heat. Cunjee shaped badly from
the start. Their two most noted batsmen, a young blacksmith and the
post-master, fell victims, without getting into double figures, to the
crafty bowling of the Mulgoa captain, Dan Billings--who drove a coach in
his spare moments, and had as nice an understanding of how to make a
ball break on a fast wicket as of flicking the off leader on the ear
with the cracker of his four-in-hand whip. Dr. Anderson scored a couple
of fours, and then went out "leg before." He remarked, returning to the
"pavilion" sorrowfully, that when one was as round and fat as he, it
was difficult to keep out of the way of three little sticks! Then Dave
Boone and Wally made a stand that roused the perspiring spectators to
something like enthusiasm, for Mr. Boone was a mighty "slogger," and
Wally had a neat and graceful style that sent the Cunjee supporters
into the seventh heaven. Between them the score mounted rapidly, and
the men of Mulgoa breathed a sigh of relief when at length Dave skied a
ball from Billings, which descended into the ample hands of Murty
O'Toole, who was quite undecided whether to treat his catch as a
triumph or a calamity. There was no doubt, however, on the part of his
colleagues for the day, who thumped him wildly on the back and yelled
again with joy. Mr. Boone retired with a score of forty-five and a wide
grin.
Then Jim joined Wally, and kept his end up while his chum put on the
runs. Nothing came amiss to Wally that day--slow balls, fast balls,
"yorkers," "googlies"--the science of Mulgoa went to earth before the
thin brown schoolboy with the merry face. Jim, however, was never at
ease, though he managed to remain in a good while; and eventually
Dickenson, a wiry little Mulgoa man, found his middle stump with a
swift ball--to the intense dismay of Norah, to whom it seemed that the
sky had fallen. Cecil smiled serenely.
"I had an idea Jim fancied himself as a bat!" said he.
"Jim never fancies himself at anything!" said Jim's sister,
indignantly. "Anyway, he's a bowler far more than a bat."
"Ah, it's possibly not his 'day out.' What a pity!" Cecil murmured.
"Well, we can't always be on our best form, I suppose," said Mrs.
Anderson, pacifically. "And, at any rate, Norah, your friend is doing
splendidly. Wasn't that a lovely stroke?"
Alas! it soon was apparent that Cunjee was not going to support its
ally. One after another the wickets went down, and the batsmen returned
from the field "with mournful steps and slow." Wally, seeing his
chances diminishing, took liberties with the bowling, and hit wildly,
with amazing luck in having catches missed. At last, however, he
snicked a ball into cover-point's hands, and retired, amid great
applause, having made forty-three. The remaining Cunjee wickets went as
chaff before the wind, and the innings closed for 119.
Then there was a rush for the refreshment shed, and monumental
quantities of tea were consumed by the teams and their supporters,
administered by the admiring maidens of Cunjee. Wally and Jim, prone on
the grass in the shade, were cheerful, but by no means enthusiastic
regarding their chances. Norah had half expected to find Jim cast down
over his batting failure, and was much relieved that he exhibited all
his usual serenity. Jim's training had been against showing feeling
over games.
"Absolutely fiery out there," said he, accepting a cup gratefully.
"Thanks, awfully, Mrs. Anderson; you people are no end good. Didn't we
make a beautiful exhibition of ourselves?--all except Dave and this kid,
that is."
"Kid yourself," said Wally, who was sucking a lemon slowly and
luxuriously. "No tea, thanks, Norah. I'm boiling already, and if I took
tea I don't know what might happen, but certainly heat apoplexy would
be part of it. Have half my lemon?"
"I don't think so, thanks," said Norah, unmoved by this magnificent
offer. "You seem to be getting used to that one, and I'd hate to
deprive you of it. Do you boys think we've any chance?"
"It's highly doubtful," Jim answered. "The general opinion is that
Mulgoa's good for 150 at the very least--they've got a few rather
superior men, I believe, and of course that Billings chap is a terror.
And the wicket, such as it is, is all in favour for the bat--which
doesn't say much for us And one of our men has gone down with the heat
and can't field--fellow from the hotel with red hair, who made
five--remember him, Wal.? He's out of training, like most hotel chaps,
and as soft as possible, So we're playing a man short."
"I wish they'd give you Murty back!" said Norah, with feminine
ignorance.
"Much hope!" returned her brother. "Anyway, Murty's not over good in
the field; he's too much in the saddle to be a quick man on his feet. I
wouldn't mind you as substitute, Nor."--which remark, though futile,
pleased Norah exceedingly.
She was rather more hopeful when the Cunjee team at length took the
field, with Boone and the blacksmith bowling against Billings and
another noted Mulgoa warrior. But her hopes were rapidly put to flight,
and the spirits of the Cunjee "barrackers" went down to zero as it
became distressingly apparent that Mr. Billings and his partner were
there to stay. Alike they treated the bowling with indifference,
hitting the Billabong stockman with especial success--which soon
demoralized Dave, who appealed to be taken off, and devoted his
energies to short slip fielding. Here he had his revenge presently, for
the second Mulgoa man hit a ball almost into his hands, and Dave clung
to it as a drowning man to a straw--one wicket for thirty-five.
Then the score mounted with alarming steadiness, and the wickets fell
all too slowly for the home team. Dan Billings appeared as comfortable
at the wickets as though on the box of his coach, and smote the bowling
all round the ground with impartiality. The heat became more and more
oppressive, and several of the Cunjee men were tiring, including plump
little Dr. Anderson, who stuck to his work as wicket-keeper pluckily--to
the unconcealed anxiety of his wife. His reward came when a hot return
from the field by Wally gave him a chance of stumping one of the Mulgoa
cracks. But the enthusiasm was only momentary; the game was considered,
even by the most sanguine small boy of Cunjee, to be "all over bar
shouting."
Jim had been bowling for some time from one end with fair results. The
batsmen certainly took fewer liberties with him, and he managed to
account for three of them for a comparatively low average. He had
allowed himself to become anxious, which is a bad thing for a bowler
when the score is creeping up and the batsmen are well set. Wally
watched his chum with some anxiety--there was none of the fire in his
bowling that had so often brought down the ground in a School match.
"Wish he'd wake up," said Wally to himself. "I'd like a chance to talk
to him."
The chance came when the field crossed over, disposed anew to harry a
left-handed batsman. Jim came over with his long, swinging walk, his
head a little bent. He started a little at his friend's voice.
"You'll snore soon!" said Wally, incisively. "What on earth's the
matter with you? Play up, School!"
Jim stopped short a moment--and burst out laughing, Wally's indignant
face glanced back over his shoulder as he ran off. There was a new
spring in the bowler's walk as he went to his crease, and the smile
still lingered.
The left-handed man faced him confidently--not many local bowlers could
trouble him much, and being a large and well-whiskered gentleman, the
tall schoolboy opposite to him sent no thrill of fear through his soul.
But Jim had learned a thing or two at school about left-handed bats. He
took a short run.
On returning to the pavilion the whiskered one admitted that he knew
really nothing about the ball. It seemed to come from nowhere, and curl
about his bat as he lifted it to strike. How the bails came off was a
mystery to him, though it was unfortunately beyond question that they
had not remained on. The left-hander removed his pads, ruminating.
Cunjee, meanwhile, had cheered frantically, and Wally sent a School
yell ringing down the field. Jim's eye lit up anew as he heard it.
"I do believe I've been asleep," he muttered.
The new man was waiting for him, and he treated his first two balls
with respect. Then he grew bolder; hit him for a single, and snicked
him to the fence for four. There was a perceptible droop in the Cunjee
spirits at the boundary hit. Then Jim bowled the last ball of the over,
and there was a composite yell from Cunjee as the Mulgoa man pushed the
ball gently into the air just over Dr. Anderson's head. The little
doctor was pitifully hot, but he did not fail. The Mulgoa batsman
returned to his friends.
Dan Billings was a little worried. Much, he felt, depended on him, and
he had never been more comfortably set; but his men--would they be as
reliable? He decided to hit out, and Mulgoa roared as the hundred went
up for a beautiful boundary hit. Six wickets were down, and Mulgoa was
107 at the end of the over. It seemed safe enough.
Jim took the ball again, his fingers pressing the red surface almost
lovingly. He had quite waked up; his head was buzzing with "theories,"
and his old power seemed to have come back to his fingers. The first
ball came with a beautiful leg-break, and the Mulgoan bat swiped at it
wildly, and vainly. Seven for 107.
Cunjee was getting excited as the eighth man came in--a wiry and long
youth with a stolid face. He contented himself with blocking Jim's
bowling, snatching a single presently so that Billings would have the
responsibility--to which that gentleman promptly responded by smiting
Jim for three. That brought the stolid youth back to power--an honour he
did not wish. He hit the next ball softly back to the bowler. Eight for
111; and Cunjee howling steadily, with all its youth, and some of its
beauty, battering with sticks on tins. A dog ran across the ground, and
was greeted with a yell that made it scurry away in terror, its tail
concealed between its legs. Just then Cunjee had no time for dogs.
But it was Mr. Billings' turn, and Mr. Billings was busy. He made good
use of the over--the score mounted, and the Cunjee hopes swung lower. It
was still eight--for 115--when a single brought his companion to face
little Harry Blake, the other Cunjee bowler, who was plainly feeling
the weight of his position. He sent the ball down nervously--it slipped
as it left his hand, and the Mulgoan stepped out to meet it, while
Harry gasped with horror. Up, up, it soared--a boundary surely! Then
there was a roar as Wally Meadows gathered himself together, raced, and
sprang for the red disc, spinning over his head just at the fence. It
seemed to hover above him--then his hands closed, and, unable to stop
himself, Wally somersaulted, rolling over and over in the long grass of
the outfield. He sat up, his brown face lit by a wide smile, the ball
still clutched, held above his head. Nine for 115!
The tension was on bowlers and batsmen alike now--all save Dan Billings,
whose calmness was unimpaired. He greeted the tenth man cheerfully--and
the tenth man was Murty O'Toole, very hot and nervous, and certainly
the most miserable man on the ground as he faced "Masther Jim's"
bowling, and knew that the alien hopes of Mulgoa depended on him. Out
in the open a Mulgoa man shrugged his shoulders, remarking, "He won't
try!" and was promptly attacked furiously by three small boys of
Cunjee, who pelted him with clods and abuse from a safe distance. Murty
looked at Jim with a little half-apologetic gesture, and Jim grinned.
"Play up, Murty, old chap!" he said.
It was not in vain that he had schooled the stockman in the paddock at
Billabong. He sent down a treacherous ball, and Murty met it and played
it boldly for two, amid Mulgoan shrieks. Two to tie and three to
win--no, one fewer now, for the Irishman had turned a swift ball to leg,
and only quick fielding had prevented a boundary. A hundred and
seventeen! Murty heaved a sigh of relief as he leaned on his bat at the
bowler's end and glanced across at Jim.
"Praises be, 'twill be Billings to hit it, an' not O'Toole!" he
muttered. "I have put me fut in it sufficient f'r wance!"
The ball left Jim's hand with a whizz, and Billings stepped out to meet
it. Just what happened no one saw clearly for a moment, it all came to
pass so quickly. Then an Irish yell from Murty O'Toole woke the echoes,
even as the bowler's hand flashed up above his head--and the big
stockman flung up his bat in an ecstasy of delight. Billings bit off a
sharp word and left his crease; and Cunjee woke to the fact that the
Mulgoan captain was caught and bowled. The match was theirs--by one run!
When Cunjee woke it became very thoroughly awake. They rushed the
ground, cheering, shouting and hurling hats and caps into the air,
irrespective of their owners' wishes. There was a demonstration to
carry Jim in, which that hero promptly quenched by taking to his heels
and leaving his too affectionate friends far in the rear. Behind him
Cunjee and Mulgoa seethed together, and the air was rent with cheers.
Free fights were in active progress in at least five places on the
ground. It was clearly Cunjee's day out.
Jim met Wally with a grin that was distinctly sheepish.
"Knew you could!" said the Mentor, patting him happily on the back.
"Good old School! But what an ass you were, Jimmy!"
"I was," said Jim, meekly.