I think there has not been so
much on a cricket match since
the day when Sir Horace Mann
walked about Broad Ha'penny agitatedly
cutting down the daisies with
his stick. And, be it remembered,
the heroes of Hambledon played
for money and renown only, while
David was champion of a lady.
A lady! May we not prettily say
of two ladies? There were no
spectators of our contest except
now and again some loiterer in
the Gardens who little thought
what was the stake for which
we played, but cannot we conceive
Barbara standing at the ropes
and agitatedly cutting down the
daisies every time David missed
the ball? I tell you, this was
the historic match of the Gardens.
David wanted to play on a pitch
near the Round Pond with which
he is familiar, but this would
have placed me at a disadvantage,
so I insisted on unaccustomed
ground, and we finally pitched
stumps in the Figs. We could
not exactly pitch stumps, for
they are forbidden in the Gardens,
but there are trees here and
there which have chalk-marks
on them throughout the summer,
and when you take up your position
with a bat near one of these
you have really pitched stumps.
The tree we selected is a ragged
yew which consists of a broken
trunk and one branch, and I viewed
the ground with secret satisfaction,
for it falls slightly at about
four yards' distance from the
tree, and this exactly suits
my style of bowling.
I won the toss and after examining
the wicket decided to take first
knock. As a rule when we play
the wit at first flows free,
but on this occasion I strode
to the crease in an almost eerie
silence. David had taken off
his blouse and rolled up his
shirt- sleeves, and his teeth
were set, so I knew he would
begin by sending me down some
fast ones.
His delivery is underarm and
not inelegant, but he sometimes
tries a round-arm ball, which
I have seen double up the fielder
at square leg. He has not a good
length, but he varies his action
bewilderingly, and has one especially
teasing ball which falls from
the branches just as you have
stepped out of your ground to
look for it. It was not, however,
with his teaser that he bowled
me that day. I had notched a
three and two singles, when he
sent me down a medium to fast
which got me in two minds and
I played back to it too late.
Now, I am seldom out on a really
grassy wicket for such a meagre
score, and as David and I changed
places without a word, there
was a cheery look on his face
that I found very galling. He
ran in to my second ball and
cut it neatly to the on for a
single, and off my fifth and
sixth he had two pretty drives
for three, both behind the wicket.
This, however, as I hoped, proved
the undoing of him, for he now
hit out confidently at everything,
and with his score at nine I
beat him with my shooter.
The look was now on my face.
I opened my second innings
by treating him with uncommon
respect, for I knew that his
little arm soon tired if he was
unsuccessful, and then when he
sent me loose ones I banged him
to the railings. What cared I
though David's lips were twitching.
When he ultimately got past
my defence, with a jumpy one
which broke awkwardly from the
off, I had fetched twenty-three
so that he needed twenty to win,
a longer hand than he had ever
yet made. As I gave him the bat
he looked brave, but something
wet fell on my hand, and then
a sudden fear seized me lest
David should not win.
At the very
outset, however, he seemed
to master the bowling,
and soon fetched about ten runs
in a classic manner. Then I tossed
him a Yorker which he missed
and it went off at a tangent
as soon as it had reached the
tree. "Not out," I cried hastily,
for the face he turned to me
was terrible.
Soon thereafter
another incident happened,
which I shall always
recall with pleasure. He had
caught the ball too high on the
bat, and I just missed the catch. "Dash
it all!" said I irritably, and
was about to resume bowling,
when I noticed that he was unhappy.
He hesitated, took up his position
at the wicket, and then came
to me manfully. "I am a cad," he
said in distress, "for when the
ball was in the air I prayed." He
had prayed that I should miss
the catch, and as I think I have
already told you, it is considered
unfair in the Gardens to pray
for victory.
My splendid
David! He has the faults of
other little boys,
but he has a noble sense of fairness. "We
shall call it a no-ball, David," I
said gravely.
I suppose the suspense of the
reader is now painful, and therefore
I shall say at once that David
won the match with two lovely
fours, the one over my head and
the other to leg all along the
ground. When I came back from
fielding this last ball I found
him embracing his bat, and to
my sour congratulations he could
at first reply only with hysterical
sounds. But soon he was pelting
home to his mother with the glorious
news.
And that is how we let Barbara
in.
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