A FEW WIRES
A hundred and eighty for none. The umpire waved his lily hand, and
the scorer entered one more "four" in his book. Seeing that the ball
had gone right through a bicycle which was leaning up against the
pavilion, many people (the owner of the bicycle, anyhow) must have
felt that the actual signalling of a boundary was unnecessary; but
our umpire is a stickler for the etiquette of the game. Once
when---- But no, on second thoughts, I sha'n't tell you that story.
You would say it was a lie--as indeed it is.
"Rotten," said Archie to me, as we crossed over. (A good captain
always confides in his wicket-keeper.)
"Don't take Simpson off," I said. "I like watching him."
"I shall go on again myself soon."
"Oh, it's not so bad as that. Don't lose heart."
The score was two hundred when we met again.
"I once read a book by a lady," I said, "in which the hero started
the over with his right hand and finished it with his left. I
suppose Simpson couldn't do that?"
"He's a darned rotten bowler, anyway."
"His direction is all right, but his metre is so irregular."
At the end of the next over, "What shall I do?" asked Archie in
despair.
"Put the wicket-keeper on," I said at once.
The idea was quite a new one to him. He considered it for a moment.
"Can you bowl?" he said at last.
"No."
"Then what on earth----"
"Look here; you've tried 'em with people who can bowl, and they've
made two hundred and twenty in an hour and a half; somebody who can't
bowl will be a little change for them. That's one reason. The
second is that we shall all have a bit of a rest while I'm taking my
things off. The third is that I bet Myra a shilling----"
Archie knelt down, and began to unbuckle my pads. "I'll 'keep'
myself," he said. "Are you fast or slow?"
"I haven't the faintest idea. Just as it occurs to me at the moment,
I expect."
"Well, you're quite right; you can't be worse than some of us. Will
you have a few balls down first?"
"No, thanks; I should like to come as a surprise to them."
"Well, pitch 'em up anyhow."
"I shall probably vary my length--if possible without any alteration
of action."
I am now approaching the incredible. The gentle reader, however,
must not be nasty about it; he should at least pretend to believe,
and his best way of doing this is to listen very silently to what
follows. When he has heard my explanation I shall assume that he
understands.
Bowling is entirely a question of when you let go of the ball. If
you let go too soon the result is a wide over the batsman's head; if
too late, a nasty crack on your own foot. Obviously there are spaces
in between. By the law of averages one must let go at the right
moment at least once. Why not then at the first ball? And in the
case of a person like myself, who has a very high action and a good
mouth--I mean who has a very high delivery, such a ball (after a week
of Simpsons and Archies) would be almost unplayable.
Very well then; I did let go at the right moment, but, unfortunately,
I took off from the wrong crease. The umpire's cry of "No-ball" and
the shattering of the Quidnunc's wicket occurred simultaneously.
"Good ball," said Archie. "Oh, bad luck!"
I tried to look as though, on the whole, I preferred it that way--as
being ultimately more likely to inspire terror in the batsman at my
end. Certainly, it gave me confidence; made me over-confident in
fact, so that I held on to the next ball much too long, and it
started bouncing almost at once.
The Quidnunc, who was convinced by this that he had been merely
having a go at the previous ball, shouldered his bat and sneered at
it. He was still sneering when it came in very quickly, and took the
bottom of the leg stump. (Finger spin, chiefly.)
Archie walked up slowly, and gazed at me.
"Well?" I said jauntily.
"No, don't speak. I just want to look, and look, and look. It's
wonderful. No elastic up the sleeve, or anything."
"This is where it first pitched," said the Major, as he examined the
ground.
"Did you think of letting in a brass tablet?" I inquired shortly.
"He is quite a young man," went on Archie dreamily, "and does not
care to speak about his plans for the future. But he is of opinion
that----"
"Break, break, break," said Simpson. "Three altogether."
"Look here, is there anybody else who wants to say anything? No?
Then I'll go on with my over."
Archie, who had begun to walk back to his place, returned
thoughtfully to me.
"I just wanted to say, old chap, that if you're writing home to-night
about it, you might remember me to your people."
Blair was about the only person who didn't insult me. This was
because he had been fielding long-on; and as soon as the wicket fell
he moved round about fifty yards to talk to Miss Fortescue. What
people can see in her---- Well, directly my next ball was bowled he
started running as hard as he could to square leg, and brought off
one of the finest catches I've ever seen.
"The old square-leg trap," said Archie. "But you cut it rather fine,
didn't you? I suppose you knew he was a sprinter?"
"I didn't cut it at all--I was bowling. Go away."
Yes, I confess it. I did the hat trick. It was a good length
half-volley, and the batsman, who had watched my first three balls,
was palpably nervous. Archie walked round and round me in silence
for some time, and then went over to Thomas.
"He's playing tennis with me this evening," he began.
"I was beaten at billiards by him last night," said Thomas proudly.
"He's going to let me call him by his Christian name."
"They say he's an awfully good chap when you know him," replied
Thomas.
I got another wicket with the last ball of the over, and then we had
lunch. Myra was smiling all over her face when we came in, but
beyond a "Well bowled, Walter" (which I believe to be Brearley's
name), would have nothing to do with me. Instead she seized Archie,
and talked long and eagerly to him. And they both laughed a good
deal.
"Arkwright," I heard Archie say at the end. "He's sure to be there,
and would do it like a shot."
Like a wise captain Archie did not put me on after lunch, and Simpson
soon began to have the tail in difficulties. Just after the eighth
wicket fell a telegram came out. Archie took it and handed it to me.
"From Maclaren, I expect," he said with a grin.
"You funny ass; I happen to know it's from Dick. I asked him for a
wire about the Kent match."
"Oh, did Kent win?" said Archie, looking over my shoulder. As I
opened it, the others came up, and I read--
"_Please be in attendance for next Test Match._"
"HAWKE"
I got three more that afternoon. One from Fry, one from
Leveson-Gower, and one from Maclaren. They all came from Lord's, and
I've half a mind to take my telegrams with me, and go. Then Myra
would probably get six months in the second division.
"But I shouldn't mind that," said Myra. "You could easily bowl--I
mean bail--me out."
A silly joke, I call it.