to
overcome his duty, "and be certain to play those balls well back. It
was all through my stepping out to them that caused my collapse. Only
be cautious and take things coolly, and you and Prester John will tire
him out."

"Oh, yes," sneered Charley Bates, whose temper had not been improved by
his getting out for five, when, in spite of his assurances of the
superiority of our antagonists, he had looked forward to getting the
highest score against them,--"Oh, yes. Tire him out! Why, the chap
hasn't got into the use of his arm yet. He'll send Jack Limpet's stumps
flying presently. But I shall laugh when Tom Atkins faces his balls!
Our comic man won't have anything to joke about then, I'll warrant."

He was a nasty fellow that Charley Bates! I don't know anything more
ungenerous than to try and dishearten a fellow just when he is going to
the wicket, and knows what a responsibility he has resting on him! But,
then, what can you expect from such a chap? I'm glad he got out for
five. I wish he had been bowled for nix.

With these pleasant thoughts in my mind I walked leisurely up the
ground, from where I had been standing by the scoring tent watching the
game, and with an inward sinking at my heart faced the "Slogger," as we
had christened our opponents' terrible bowler.

For a couple of overs I got on very well. Acting on the captain's
advice I stopped in my own ground, playing all the Slogger's balls
carefully back, and by this means managed to score two good leg hits in
the fourth over, that sent up six to my account, in addition to three
singles, which I had put on by careful watchfulness at first.

Just then, however, Prester John made a hit for a wonder--a straight
drive for five; and fired with emulation I let out at the next ball I
received. Throwing all caution and the captain's commands to the winds,
I did "let out with a vengeance," as Tom Atkins said on my return to the
tent, for I "let in" the ball, which, coming in with a swish, snapped my
leg-stump in two, sending the pieces flying sky high in the air!

Three wickets for fifty-seven runs, two for byes; so far, the scoring
was not bad; but in a very short time Pelion was piled on Ossa in the
history of our disasters. Prester John got run out through the absurd
folly of Tom Atkins, who stopped actually in mid-wicket to laugh at some
nonsense or other that had at that moment flashed across the vision of
what he called his "mind;" and with hi