Cricket 1893

458 CRICKET § A WEEKLi HECORD OF THE GAME, NOV. 30, 1893 year before. Starling with a run of bad luck, he had since marred his chance3 of success by over-anxiety, and no ong would have recog­ nised him for the brilliant batsman of the previous year. How much of his falling-off was du3 to the disti action he wa3 undergoing from his friend JohLn / ’s pretty sister, it would be hard to say. But i, was a significant fact that Bert’ s biggc sc. scores last year had b^en made in the out matche3, and that this year he could liarcly make a run at Westmoor, where Lois was almost always present. And yet he was always grumpy and miserable when she did not put in an appearance on the ground. On this particular day he had been very short and by no means sweet with everybody until he saw her ooming; had then gone in and come out for a duck; and thereafter had lured her aside to the corner near the big oak tree, where they were invisible to the little throng of onlookers in and around the pavilion, and had for the fourth time asked her to be his wife. Pretty little Lois felt inclined to cry. She hated to have t> say No again to dear old Bert, of whom she was very fon d ; but she had quite made up her mind that she did not love him as she ought to love the man she wa3 to marry. She was only eighteen, and not long out of the thralls of governesses, and perhaps there was in her heart an ideal of manhood to which Bert, whom she could remember as a mischievous and not always very polite boy, did not attain. But she could not help smiling through her teirs at the queer, blunt way in which Bert spoke. •‘ Look here, Lois,” he said, in all fierce earnestness, you must marry m e; I can’ t take No this time. I shall never be good for anything if you don’t. I can't score a run while you are looking on ; your face dazzles me so that I can’t see the ball. And it’s just the same in other things as in cricket. If the governor wasn’ t at home again now, the busi­ ness would be in a fair way of going to the deuce. One of two things will have to happen to-day, or I’ll never play cricket agaia— that 1 swear! Either you must promise you will marry me, or else I must score the century in this next innings. And goodness knows what the odds are against my doing t a t \” “ It’s a great pity ; for I am afraid jou wil have to do it if you ai e to play again after what you have said,” answered Lois, wiili the suspicion of a twinkle in her bright grey eyes. That was not all she said, though : she really tried to comfort B ert-w ith as much success as is usual in such cases. He left her after a little display of temper such as she had not seen from him for years. And as he walked rapidly away, with long angry strides, she felt for the first time not quite certain that she did not love him in th« right way after all. If he could speak to her like that, and fling away her haud when she wTas trying to be good to him—why, he might come in time to be quite indifferent to her. And she could not help owning to herself that she regarded that contingency as an uncomfortable one. But of such thoughts as these, tending towards his success at the fifth attempt, Bert of course knew nothing. Things seemed very black to him jast then. He wanted to be alone to work off his ill-humour; and so, after the trying ordeal of fielding through Sutton Longford’s innings was over, he had sought seclusion behind the pavilion. A word or two hardly suitable for publication escaped him when he heard Johnny Etheridge calling : “ B ert! B ert! I say, Rushfield ! Where is ihe fellow ? Does anybody know ? ” “ Here I am,” Bert answered, snappishly; and, with his pads still on, and tbe perspira­ tion induce 1 by forty minutes’ batting under a scorching sun sti'l running down his face, Johnny Etheridge vaulied over the rustic style into the meadow. “ Look sharp and get your pids on, old chap,” he said. “ The score’s fifty five now, and if we are aMe to get runs at a good pace between now and six o’clock we may be able | to pull the match out of the fire after all. Two hundred and forty is a jolly lot to score in the last innings, I know; but we’ ve done bigger things before now. Helmsliall’s bowl­ ing well, though : he had me with a beiuty that broke in from leg and fhot—a ripping fast ball, tc o. Y cu’il have to show us some of la3t y< ar's form. Wragg has jast strolled on to the ground, and he ttlls me that Blatch- ford has ricked his knee and can’ t play against Broadlandshire on Monday. He didn't say as much, but I guess his appearance here means an invitation to you to take his place.” “ •Not likely. Look what wretched form I’m i n ! ” “ Ob, they know better than to think a man’s dene for because he gets out for a duck onoa or twice. I tell you, Wragg isn’t here for nothing: he’s too busy a man for that. But come ilong and get ready to go in, old man.’’ “ I’m not down to go in yet, an I ? ” “ Yes, when a wicket falls, and it won’t be long first, though Bradley is rather fancying himself on the strength of his thirty in the first innings when the rest of us failed. Bat they hadn’ t got Dolbey on them: he never can play Dolbey. Young Squires is well set, and plajing a rattling good game, though I wish he wasn’t such an infernal joung idiot about judging a run. If any two can pull off the game for us now I’m out” —Johnny was nothing if not modest—“ it’s you and he. Come along now ! ” And Bert came along. Like an old war- horse that scents battle, he forgot everything else in the thought of the fray. He did give just one look round as he pas?ed into the pavilion, it is true; bat he was rather relieved than otherwise to find that Lois had dih- appeared. As a m\tter of fact, Johnny ha.i suggested to her that she had better go home ; and she had complied not unwillingly. Like an astute general. Johnny negl-cted nothing that might conduce to success, and he knew well that ihe presence of Lois on the field spoiled Bert’s play. Hardly hal Bert fastened the last button cf I is batting gloves w’hen an exclamati n fr.im Johuny t<1I him that IVadley was out. caught at short-leg off the wily Dolbey. At once Bert fared f >rih. Tnere was no time to waste, and his cap’ ain knew this man at least needed no instructions as to what to do and what to avoid. If he could but break his long spell of ill-luck, he would almost ceitainly pull them through triumphantly —as he had done in manv a game before. “ Mv la6t game,’’ thought Rusbfield, as he walked to the wicket. “ Well, never mind: all the more reason why I should play up for the sake of old Westmcor.” And thereat he bravely put away all thought of Lois, and braced himself up for the task before him. Young Squires —a slightly-built lad of seventeen, with batting powers that bade fair to bring him in course of time into the very front rank, but with deplorably bad judgment about running—looked radiant as Bert passed him. He was painfully conscious of his own shortcomings ; but they were never so ap­ parent when he was in with Bert—and, any way, Bert never raved at him like a madman for his lack of dec'sion, as older men who ought to have known better sometimes did. The first ball Bert had was an over­ pitched straight one. He opened his shoulders to it, and sent it flying far above the bowler’s head, and over the hedge eighty yards behind him —a great hit, greeted with hearty cheers from the tavilion. A good ball blocked: then a beautiful drive for three all along the carpet; a neat two to square-leg by young Squires; and Bert had to face the fast bowler, who had secured his wicket first ball earlier in the day But his nerves were strung up to concert pitch now ; he was not over-confident, but he felt that it mus1; b e a very good ball if it w e re g o iD g to bowl him. It was a good ba ll; but it was played hard baok to the bowler, and be, fumbling it as it bounded, let it go for two. The next ball was cut to the boundary ; the third was outsido the leg-stump, and was promptly despatched to the pavilion for five ; young Squires played the fourth, and cut the last for two. And so the scoring went on. Helmshall was soon taken off ; but changes of bowling seemed to make no difference. The two played a splendid game, scoring fast aud yet running few risks, so complete was their mastery over the bowling. The boy had made about thirty when Bert came in, and was thus well set even then ; but Rushfield from the first played as confidently and freely as if he had already scored the century and won the match. When he was out at half past five, only fifteen runs were required to win. Had he scored a hundred, you ask ? Well, no. The entry against his name in the score- book was—“ run out, 99 ! ” II. Westmoor pulled off the match with ease, winning by seven wickets a quarter of an hour before time. Young bquires carried out his bat for 110—his first century. But all his natural elation at making it was spoiled by the knowledge that, in his over-eagerness to reach three figures, he had called Bert Rash- field for an impossible run, and had thus caused his dismissal when he, too, was but one short of the century. He tried to apologise ; but Bert good-naturedly cut him short. “ Never mind, old chap ! what’s the odds as long as we’ve won ? The difference between two nines and a one with two noughts after it isn’t as great to me as it seems to you. Don’ t you w'orry ! ” “ Why didn’t you let the cub run himself out, Bert ? ” asked Johnny, as the two left the field together. “ You could easily have got back. You threw away your wicket to save his—magnanimous, doubtless, but very foolish. .And you knew what your score wa*, too.” “ It doesn’t matter much, Johnny. The Ind’s stupid about running. I’ll adm it; but thick what it would have meant to you or me if we had been out at ninety-nine when we weie his ago. I don’t mind now : I’ve played mv last game.” “ W h a n " No words can give any idea of the tone in which Johnny uttered that * W h a t?" But Beri did not answer it. Now that the joy cf battle and the glow of self-sacrifice had died away, he felt as miserable as ever. What was life worth to him without little Lois ? What were centuries and County honours compared with those sweet grey eyes? His mind was made u p ; he would go out to the branch which his father had lately established in Philadelphia. But Johnny pressed for an explanation. Ancl when Johnny did that, he generally got it. He had a wonderfully persuasive way with him ; and neither Bert nor (in a less degree, for it’s isn’ t quite true that no woman can keep a secret), Lois could ever withhold confidence from him. So Rushfield poured out all his woes. Johnny did not seem sympathetic—at least, that was what Bert though. He didn’t say a word until they reached the garden gate of Homeville, the Rushfields’ house; and all that he said then was, “ I suppose I shall see you to-morrow, old man ? ” “ Thinks I’m a fool to be so fond of his sister, no doubt ? ” glumly said Bert to him­ self, as he stood and watched Johnny striding homewards. “ Perhaps I am. But I wonder why fellows feel like that about their own sisters ? ” Bert was an only child, and felt sure that if he had been blessed with a sister he could have set a bright example to the rest of the world. But he knevv well enough that Johnny was fond of L ois—perhaps fonder of her than of anyone else in the world—though on this particular evening he wasn’ t feeling very amiably disposed towards her. “ The best chap in the world ! W'hat’s the little donkey thinking of? Four times, too! Poor old B ert! I shall really have to talk to that young woman ! ”