hed. Just a ball or two to the last man, and it will be their
turn to bat. If the last man insists on keeping them out in the field,
they resent it.

What made it especially irritating now was the knowledge that a
straight yorker would solve the whole thing. But when Burgess bowled a
yorker, it was not straight. And when he bowled a straight ball, it
was not a yorker. A four and a three to de Freece, and a four bye sent
up a hundred and sixty.

It was beginning to look as if this might go on for ever, when
Ellerby, who had been missing the stumps by fractions of an inch,
for the last ten minutes, did what Burgess had failed to do. He
bowled a straight, medium-paced yorker, and de Freece, swiping at it
with a bright smile, found his leg-stump knocked back. He had made
twenty-eight. His record score, he explained to Mike, as they walked
to the pavilion, for this or any ground.

The Ripton total was a hundred and sixty-six.

* * * * *

With the ground in its usual true, hard condition, Wrykyn would have
gone in against a score of a hundred and sixty-six with the cheery
intention of knocking off the runs for the loss of two or three
wickets. It would have been a gentle canter for them.

But ordinary standards would not apply here. On a good wicket Wrykyn
that season were a two hundred and fifty to three hundred side. On a
bad wicket--well, they had met the Incogniti on a bad wicket, and
their total--with Wyatt playing and making top score--had worked out
at a hundred and seven.

A grim determination to do their best, rather than confidence that
their best, when done, would be anything record-breaking, was the
spirit which animated the team when they opened their innings.

And in five minutes this had changed to a dull gloom.

The tragedy started with the very first ball. It hardly seemed that
the innings had begun, when Morris was seen to leave the crease, and
make for the pavilion.

"It's that googly man," said Burgess blankly.

"What's happened?" shouted a voice from the interior of the first
eleven room.

"Morris is out."

"Good gracious! How?" asked Ellerby, emerging from the room with one
pad on his leg and the other in his hand.

"L.-b.-w. First ball."

"My aunt! Who's in next? Not me?"

"No. Berridge. For goodness sake, Berry, stick a bat in the way, and
not your legs. Watch that de Freece man like a hawk. He breaks like
sin all over the shop. Hullo, Morris! Bad lu