. Seven for 107.

Cunjee was getting excited as the eighth man came in--a wiry and long
youth with a stolid face. He contented himself with blocking Jim's
bowling, snatching a single presently so that Billings would have the
responsibility--to which that gentleman promptly responded by smiting
Jim for three. That brought the stolid youth back to power--an honour he
did not wish. He hit the next ball softly back to the bowler. Eight for
111; and Cunjee howling steadily, with all its youth, and some of its
beauty, battering with sticks on tins. A dog ran across the ground, and
was greeted with a yell that made it scurry away in terror, its tail
concealed between its legs. Just then Cunjee had no time for dogs.

But it was Mr. Billings' turn, and Mr. Billings was busy. He made good
use of the over--the score mounted, and the Cunjee hopes swung lower. It
was still eight--for 115--when a single brought his companion to face
little Harry Blake, the other Cunjee bowler, who was plainly feeling
the weight of his position. He sent the ball down nervously--it slipped
as it left his hand, and the Mulgoan stepped out to meet it, while
Harry gasped with horror. Up, up, it soared--a boundary surely! Then
there was a roar as Wally Meadows gathered himself together, raced, and
sprang for the red disc, spinning over his head just at the fence. It
seemed to hover above him--then his hands closed, and, unable to stop
himself, Wally somersaulted, rolling over and over in the long grass of
the outfield. He sat up, his brown face lit by a wide smile, the ball
still clutched, held above his head. Nine for 115!

The tension was on bowlers and batsmen alike now--all save Dan Billings,
whose calmness was unimpaired. He greeted the tenth man cheerfully--and
the tenth man was Murty O'Toole, very hot and nervous, and certainly
the most miserable man on the ground as he faced "Masther Jim's"
bowling, and knew that the alien hopes of Mulgoa depended on him. Out
in the open a Mulgoa man shrugged his shoulders, remarking, "He won't
try!" and was promptly attacked furiously by three small boys of
Cunjee, who pelted him with clods and abuse from a safe distance. Murty
looked at Jim with a little half-apologetic gesture, and Jim grinned.

"Play up, Murty, old chap!" he said.

It was not in vain that he had schooled the stockman in the paddock at
Billabong. He sent down a treacherous ball, and Murty met it and played
it boldly for two, amid Mulgoan shr