nantly. "Anyway, he's a bowler far more than a bat."

"Ah, it's possibly not his 'day out.' What a pity!" Cecil murmured.

"Well, we can't always be on our best form, I suppose," said Mrs.
Anderson, pacifically. "And, at any rate, Norah, your friend is doing
splendidly. Wasn't that a lovely stroke?"

Alas! it soon was apparent that Cunjee was not going to support its
ally. One after another the wickets went down, and the batsmen returned
from the field "with mournful steps and slow." Wally, seeing his
chances diminishing, took liberties with the bowling, and hit wildly,
with amazing luck in having catches missed. At last, however, he
snicked a ball into cover-point's hands, and retired, amid great
applause, having made forty-three. The remaining Cunjee wickets went as
chaff before the wind, and the innings closed for 119.

Then there was a rush for the refreshment shed, and monumental
quantities of tea were consumed by the teams and their supporters,
administered by the admiring maidens of Cunjee. Wally and Jim, prone on
the grass in the shade, were cheerful, but by no means enthusiastic
regarding their chances. Norah had half expected to find Jim cast down
over his batting failure, and was much relieved that he exhibited all
his usual serenity. Jim's training had been against showing feeling
over games.

"Absolutely fiery out there," said he, accepting a cup gratefully.
"Thanks, awfully, Mrs. Anderson; you people are no end good. Didn't we
make a beautiful exhibition of ourselves?--all except Dave and this kid,
that is."

"Kid yourself," said Wally, who was sucking a lemon slowly and
luxuriously. "No tea, thanks, Norah. I'm boiling already, and if I took
tea I don't know what might happen, but certainly heat apoplexy would
be part of it. Have half my lemon?"

"I don't think so, thanks," said Norah, unmoved by this magnificent
offer. "You seem to be getting used to that one, and I'd hate to
deprive you of it. Do you boys think we've any chance?"

"It's highly doubtful," Jim answered. "The general opinion is that
Mulgoa's good for 150 at the very least--they've got a few rather
superior men, I believe, and of course that Billings chap is a terror.
And the wicket, such as it is, is all in favour for the bat--which
doesn't say much for us And one of our men has gone down with the heat
and can't field--fellow from the hotel with red hair, who made
five--remember him, Wal.? He's out of training, like most hotel chap