CRICKET AND PHILOSOPHY
"The instinct for games," Wilhelmina remarked, "is one which I never
possessed. Let us see whether we can learn something."
In obedience to her gesture, the horses were checked, and the footman
clambered down and stood at their heads. Deyes, from his somewhat
uncomfortable back seat in the victoria, leaned forward, and, adjusting
his eyeglass, studied the scene with interest.
"Here," he remarked, "we have the 'flannelled fool' upon his native
heath. They are playing a game which my memory tells me is cricket.
Everyone seems very hot and very excited."
Wilhelmina beckoned to the footman to come round to the side of the
carriage.
"James," she said, "do you know what all this means?"
She waved her hand towards the cricket pitch, the umpires with their
white coats, the tent and the crowd of spectators. The man touched his
hat.
"It is a cricket match, madam," he answered, "between Thorpe and
Nesborough."
Wilhelmina looked once more towards the field, and recognized Mr. Hurd
upon his stout little cob.
"Go and tell Mr. Hurd to come and speak to me," she ordered.
The man hastened off. Mr. Hurd had not once turned his head. His eyes
were riveted upon the game. The groom found it necessary to touch him on
the arm before he could attract his attention. Even when he had
delivered his message, the agent waited until the finish of the over
before he moved. Then he cantered his pony up to the waiting carriage.
Wilhelmina greeted him graciously.
"I want to know about the cricket match, Mr. Hurd," she asked, smiling.
Mr. Hurd wheeled his pony round so that he could still watch the game.
"I am afraid that we are going to be beaten, madam," he said dolefully.
"Nesborough made a hundred and ninety-eight, and we have six wickets
down for fifty."
Wilhelmina seemed scarcely to realize the tragedy which his words
unfolded.
"I suppose they are the stronger team, aren't they?" she remarked. "They
ought to be. Nesborough is quite a large town."
"We have beaten them regularly until the last two years," Mr. Hurd
answered. "We should beat them now but for their fast bowler, Mills. I
don't know how it is, but our men will not stand up to him."
"Perhaps they are afraid of being hurt," Wilhelmina suggested
innocently. "If that is he bowling now, I'm sure I don't wonder at it."
Mr. Hurd frowned.
"We don't have men in the eleven who are afraid of getting hurt," he
remarked stiffly.
A shout of dismay from the onlookers, a smothered exclamation from Mr.
Hurd, and a man was seen on his way to the pavilion. His wickets were
spreadeagled, and the ball was being tossed about the field.
"Another wicket!" the agent exclaimed testily. "Crooks played all round
that ball!"
"Isn't that your son going in, Mr. Hurd?" Wilhelmina asked.
"Yes! Stephen is in now," his father answered. "If he gets out, the
match is over."
"Who is the other batsman?" Deyes asked.
"Antill, the second bailiff," Mr. Hurd answered. "He's captain, and he
can stay in all day, but he can't make runs."
They all leaned forward to witness the continuation of the match.
Stephen Hurd's career was brief and inglorious. He took guard and looked
carefully round the field with the air of a man who is going to give
trouble. Then he saw the victoria, with its vision of parasols and
fluttering laces, and the sight was fatal to him. He slogged wildly at
the first ball, missed it, and paid the penalty. The lady in the
carriage frowned, and Mr. Hurd muttered something under his breath as he
watched his son on the way back to the tent.
"I'm afraid it's all up with us now," he remarked. "We have only three
more men to go in."
"Then we are going to be beaten," Wilhelmina remarked.
"I'm afraid so," Mr. Hurd assented gloomily.
The next batsman had issued from the tent and was on his way to the
wicket. Wilhelmina, who had been about to give an order to the footman,
watched him curiously.
"Who is that going in?" she asked abruptly.
Mr. Hurd was looking not altogether comfortable.
"It is the young man who wanted to preach," he answered.
Wilhelmina frowned.
"Why is he playing?" she asked. "He has nothing to do with Thorpe."
"He came down to see them practise a few evenings ago, and Antill asked
him," the agent answered. "If I had known earlier I would have stopped
it."
Wilhelmina did not immediately reply. She was watching the young man who
stood now at the wicket, bat in hand. In his flannels, he seemed a very
different person from the missioner whose request a few days ago had so
much offended her. Nevertheless, her lip curled as she saw the terrible
Mills prepare to deliver his first ball.
"That sort of person," she remarked, "is scarcely likely to be much good
at games. Oh!"
Her exclamation was repeated in various forms from all over the field.
Macheson had hit his first ball high over their heads, and a storm of
applause broke from the bystanders. The batsman made no attempt to run.
"What is that?" Wilhelmina asked.
"A boundary--magnificent drive," Mr. Hurd answered excitedly. "By Jove,
another!"
The agent dropped his reins and led the applause. Along the ground this
time the ball had come at such a pace that the fieldsman made a very
half-hearted attempt to stop it. It passed the horses' feet by only a
few yards. The coachman turned round and touched his hat.
"Shall I move farther back, madam?" he asked.
"Stay where you are," Wilhelmina answered shortly. Her eyes were fixed
upon the tall, lithe figure once more facing the bowler. The next ball
was the last of the over. Macheson played it carefully for a single, and
stood prepared for the bowling at the other end. He began by a graceful
cut for two, and followed it up by a square leg hit clean out of the
ground. For the next half an hour, the Thorpe villagers thoroughly
enjoyed themselves. Never since the days of one Foulds, a former
blacksmith, had they seen such an exhibition of hurricane hitting. The
fast bowler, knocked clean off his length, became wild and erratic. Once
he only missed Macheson's head by an inch, but his next ball was driven
fair and square out of the ground for six. The applause became frantic.
Wilhelmina was leaning back amongst the cushions of her carriage,
watching the game through half closed eyes, and with some apparent
return of her usual graceful languor. Nevertheless, she remained there,
and her eyes seldom wandered for a moment from the scene of play.
Beneath her apparent indifference, she was watching this young man with
an interest for which she would have found it hard to account, and which
instinct alone prompted her to conceal. It was a very ordinary scene,
after all, of which he was the dominant figure. She had seen so much of
life on a larger scale--of men playing heroic parts in the limelight of
a stage as mighty as this was insignificant. Yet, without stopping to
reason about it, she was conscious of a curious sense of pleasure in
watching the doings of this forceful young giant. With an easy
good-humoured smile, replaced every now and then with a grim look of
determination as he jumped out from the crease to hit, he continued his
victorious career, until a more frantic burst of applause than usual
announced that the match was won. Then Wilhelmina turned towards Stephen
Hurd, who was standing by the side of the carriage.
"You executed my commission," she asked, "respecting that young man?"
"The first thing this morning," he answered. "I went up to see Mrs.
Foulton, and I also spoke to him."
"Did he make any difficulty?"
"None at all!" the young man answered.
"What did he say?"
Stephen hesitated, but Wilhelmina waited for his reply. She had the air
of one remotely interested, yet she waited obviously to hear what this
young man had said.
"I think he said something about your making war upon a large scale,"
Stephen explained diffidently.
She sat still for a moment. She was looking towards the deserted cricket
pitch.
"Where is he staying now?" she asked.
"I do not know," he answered. "I have warned all the likely people not
to receive him, and I have told him, too, that he will only get your
tenants into trouble if he tries to get lodgings here."
"I should like," she said, "to speak to him. Perhaps you would be so
good as to ask him to step this way for a moment."
Stephen departed, wondering. Deyes was watching his hostess with an air
of covert amusement.
"Do you continue the warfare," he asked, "or has the young man's prowess
softened your heart?"
Wilhelmina raised her parasol and looked steadily at her questioner.
"Warfare is scarcely the word, is it?" she remarked carelessly. "I have
no personal objection to the young man."
They watched him crossing the field towards them. Notwithstanding his
recent exertions, he walked lightly, and without any sign of fatigue.
Deyes looked curiously at the crest upon the cap which he was carrying
in his hand.
"Magdalen," he muttered. "Your missioner grows more interesting."
Wilhelmina leaned forwards. Her face was inscrutable, and her greeting
devoid of cordiality.
"So you have decided to teach my people cricket instead of morals, Mr.
Macheson," she remarked.
"The two," he answered pleasantly, "are not incompatible."
Wilhelmina frowned.
"I hope," she said, "that you have abandoned your idea of holding
meetings in the village."
"Certainly not," he answered. "I will begin next week."
"You understand," she said calmly, "that I consider you--as a
missioner--an intruder--here! Those of my people who attend your
services will incur my displeasure!"
"Madam," he answered, "I do not believe that you will visit it upon
them."
"But I will," she interrupted ruthlessly. "You are young and know little
of the world. You have not yet learnt the truth of one of the oldest of
proverbs--that it is well to let well alone!"
"It is a sop for the idle, that proverb," he answered. "It is the motto
for the great army of those who drift."
"I have been making inquiries," she said. "I find that my villagers are
contented and prosperous. There are no signs of vice in the place."
"There is such a thing," he answered, "as being too prosperous,
over-contented. The person in such a state takes life for granted.
Religion is a thing he hears about, but fails to realize. He has no need
of it. He becomes like the prize cattle in your park! He has a mind, but
has forgotten how to use it."
She looked at him steadily, perhaps a trifle insolently.
"How old are you, Mr. Macheson?" she asked.
"Twenty-eight," he answered, with a slight flush.
"Twenty-eight! You are young to make yourself the judge of such things
as these. You will do a great deal of mischief, I am afraid, before you
are old enough to realize it."
"To awaken those who sleep in the daytime--is that mischief?" he asked.
"It is," she answered deliberately. "When you are older you will realize
it. Sleep is the best."
He bent towards her. The light in his eyes had blazed out.
"You know in your heart," he said, "that it is not true. You have
brains, and you are as much of an artist as your fettered life permits
you to be. You know very well that knowledge is best."
"Do you believe," she answered, "that I--I take myself not personally
but as a type--am as happy as they are?"
She moved her parasol to where the village lay beyond the trees. He
hesitated.
"Madam," he answered gravely, "I know too little of your life to answer
your question."
She shrugged her shoulders. For a moment her parasol hid her face.
"We are quite _a la mode_, are we not, my dear Peggy?" she remarked,
with a curious little laugh. "Philosophy upon the village green.
Gilbert, tell them to drive on."
She turned deliberately to Macheson.
"Come and convert us instead," she said. "We need it more."
"I do not doubt it, madam," he answered. "Good afternoon!"
The carriage drove off. Macheson, obeying an impulse which he did not
recognize, watched it till it was out of sight. At the bend, Wilhelmina
deliberately turned in her seat and saw him standing there. She waved
her parasol in ironical farewell, and Macheson walked back to the tent
with burning cheeks.