"We got to 'ave fresh rules," Kippy continued. "Anyone breaking a
winder 'as to retire, mend the winder, and 'is side loses ten runs."
Only a super mind could in the time have framed a punishment so
convincingly deterrent.
The scoop shot from the pergola end was ruled out in a sentence, and
we were treated to a masterly and Jessopian demonstration of how to
get an off ball past square-leg.
But no completely efficient form of organisation can be encompassed in
an hour, nor can man legislate for the unknown factor.
In this case Kippy was not aware that, on the far side of the
shrubbery, against an ancient sun-bathed wall, stood the greenhouse
which sheltered the Colonel's prize grapes. And so Jim Butcher,
playing this time from the rockery end, brought off the double event
and caused another new clause to be added to the local rules. With
thirty-seven to his credit and still undefeated he was making history
in the village, though it must be admitted that no one was ever less
anxious to retain the post of honour, and when the gardener laid out
the damaged fruit nothing short of Kippy's appeal would have persuaded
him to continue his innings.
"Wot, retire jest when you're gettin' popler an' can't do no more
'arm an' I've sent off the 'ole brigade of scouts ter spread the noos,
'Jessop thirty, not out, an' 'arf the Colonel's winders napooed.' Wy,
the 'ole blinkin' county will be 'ere as soon as they know wot's goin'
on." Kippy leant forward confidentially, "An' them Serbian boxes 'as
got ter be filled some'ow." It was an irresistible argument, and Jim
Butcher continued his innings under slightly restricted conditions.
At 6.50, with ten minutes to play, the Convalescents, who had shown
great form, required only twelve runs to win the match. Kippy and
Gunner Toady shared the batting. A pretty glance to leg for two by
the Gunner was all that could be taken out of the penultimate over,
and Kippy at the pergola end faced Mark Styles, the postman, to take
the first ball of the last over. Two singles were run, and then Kippy
placed one nicely into the herbaceous border for four. The next one
nearly got him, and then, with the seven o'clock delivery, as it
were, the postman tossed up a half-volley on the leg side. Forgotten
were the rules, the windows and all else. Kippy jumped out and, with
every muscle he could bring into action, hit it straight through
the plate-glass panel of the billiard-room door. For five petrified
seconds we gazed at the wreckage, and then the door opened and the
Colonel walked briskly into the garden. Anything else--a bomb or
an earthquake--might merely have created curiosity, but this was
different.
Quite unostentatiously I vacated my position at fine leg and merged
myself with the slips, who, together with point and cover, were
bearing a course towards the labyrinthine ways of the kitchen-garden.
After vainly searching for an imaginary ball and finding that we were
not actually attacked from the rear, we ventured at length to return.
Kippy and the Colonel were conversing on the centre of the well-worn
pitch. The Colonel was speaking.
"... Lose ten runs and the match! I never heard such infernal
nonsense. That shot was worth six runs on any ground. I shall insist
on revising the rules."
At the same time I noticed that Kippy was holding a red-and-white box,
and the Colonel was with difficulty thrusting something through the
inadequate slit.
It looked like a piece of paper.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Bank Cashier (gazing at golden orb of day)._ "IT'S A
REAL HOLIDAY TO WATCH THESE SUNSETS--AFTER ALL THE PAPER MONEY."]
* * * * *
The Huns at Home.
"In the final figure, all the dancers make bows and curtseys to
the Emperor and Empress, who are either standing or sitting at
this time on the throne."
--_Mr. GERARD'S description of a Court Ball._
Two chiefs with but a single chair to stand on. And yet they call
Germany undemocratic!
* * * * *
"M. Painlevé's resemblance to M. Briand (the former Premier) is
string."--_Liverpool Daily Post_.
Whereas the tie between British Ministers is generally tape (red).
* * * * *