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THE M.C.C. MATCH
But out in the field things were going badly with Beckford. The aspectof a game often changes considerably after lunch. For a while it lookedas if Marriott and Pringle were in for their respective centuries. ButMarriott was never a safe batsman.
A hundred and fifty went up on the board off a square leg hit for two,which completed Pringle's half-century, and then Marriott faced theslow bowler, who had been put on again after lunch. The first ball wasa miss-hit. It went behind point for a couple. The next he got fairlyhold of and drove to the boundary. The third was a very simple-lookingball. Its sole merit appeared to be the fact that it was straight. Alsoit was a trifle shorter than it looked. Marriott jumped out, and gottoo much under it. Up it soared, straight over the bowler's head. Atrifle more weight behind the hit, and it would have cleared the ropes.As it was, the man in the deep-field never looked like missing it. Thebatsmen had time to cross over before the ball arrived, but they did itwithout enthusiasm. The run was not likely to count. Nor did it.Deep-field caught it like a bird. Marriott had made twenty-two.
And now occurred one of those rots which so often happen without anyostensible cause in the best regulated school elevens. Pringle playedthe three remaining balls of the over without mishap, but when it wasthe fast man's turn to bowl to Bruce, Marriott's successor, thingsbegan to happen. Bruce, temporarily insane, perhaps throughnervousness, played back at a half-volley, and was clean bowled. Hillcame in, and was caught two balls later at the wicket. And the lastball of the over sent Jennings's off-stump out of the ground, afterthat batsman had scored two.
'I can always bowl like blazes after lunch,' said the fast man toPringle. 'It's the lobster salad that does it, I think.' Four for ahundred and fifty-seven had changed to seven for a hundred andfifty-nine in the course of a single over. Gethryn's calculations, ifhe had only known, could have done now with a little revision.
Gosling was the next man. He was followed, after a brief innings ofthree balls, which realized eight runs, by Baynes. Baynes, thoughabstaining from runs himself, helped Pringle to add three to the score,all in singles, and was then yorked by the slow man, who meanly andtreacherously sent down, without the slightest warning, a very fast oneon the leg stump. Then Reece came in for the last wicket, and the rotstopped. Reece always went in last for the School, and the School inconsequence always felt that there were possibilities to the very endof the innings.
The lot of a last-wicket man is somewhat trying. As at any moment hisbest innings may be nipped in the bud by the other man getting out, hegenerally feels that it is hardly worth while to play himself in beforeendeavouring to make runs. He therefore tries to score off every ball,and thinks himself lucky if he gets half a dozen. Reece, however, tooklife more seriously. He had made quite an art of last-wicket batting.Once, against the Butterflies, he had run up sixty not out, and therewas always the chance that he would do the same again. Today, withPringle at the other end, he looked forward to a pleasant hour or twoat the wicket.
No bowler ever looks on the last man quite in the same light as he doesthe other ten. He underrates him instinctively. The M.C.C. fast bowlerwas a man with an idea. His idea was that he could bowl a slow ball ofdiabolical ingenuity. As a rule, public feeling was against his tryingthe experiment. His captains were in the habit of enquiring rudely ifhe thought he was playing marbles. This was exactly what the M.C.C.captain asked on the present occasion, when the head ball sailedponderously through the air, and was promptly hit by Reece into thePavilion. The bowler grinned, and resumed his ordinary pace.
But everything came alike to Reece. Pringle, too, continued his careerof triumph. Gradually the score rose from a hundred and seventy to twohundred. Pringle cut and drove in all directions, with the air of aprince of the blood royal distributing largesse. The second centurywent up to the accompaniment of cheers.
Then the slow bowler reaped his reward, for Pringle, after putting hisfirst two balls over the screen, was caught on the boundary off thethird. He had contributed eighty-one to a total of two hundred andthirteen.
So far Gethryn's absence had not been noticed. But when the umpires hadgone out, and the School were getting ready to take the field,inquiries were made.
'You might begin at the top end, Gosling,' said Norris.
'Right,' said Samuel. 'Who's going on at the other?'
'Baynes. Hullo, where's Gethryn?'
'Isn't he here? Perhaps he's in the Pavi--'
'Any of you chaps seen Gethryn?'
'He isn't in the Pav.,' said Baker. 'I've just come out of the Firstroom myself, and he wasn't there. Shouldn't wonder if he's over atLeicester's.'
'Dash the man,' said Norris, 'he might have known we'd be going out tofield soon. Anyhow, we can't wait for him. We shall have to field asub. till he turns up.'
'Lorimer's in the Pav., changed,' said Pringle.
'All right. He'll do.'
And, reinforced by the gratified Lorimer, the team went on its way.
In the beginning the fortunes of the School prospered. Gosling opened,as was his custom, at a tremendous pace, and seemed to trouble thefirst few batsmen considerably. A worried-looking little person who hadfielded with immense zeal during the School innings at cover-point tookthe first ball. It was very fast, and hit him just under the knee-cap.The pain, in spite of the pad, appeared to be acute. The little mandanced vigorously for some time, and then, with much diffidence,prepared himself for the second instalment.
Now, when on the cricket field, the truculent Samuel was totallydeficient in all the finer feelings, such as pity and charity. He couldsee that the batsman was in pain, and yet his second ball was fasterthan the first. It came in quickly from the off. The little batsmanwent forward in a hesitating, half-hearted manner, and played a cleartwo inches inside the ball. The off-stump shot out of the ground.
'Bowled, Sammy,' said Norris from his place in the slips.
The next man was a clergyman, a large man who suggested possibilitiesin the way of hitting. But Gosling was irresistible. For three ballsthe priest survived. But the last of the over, a fast yorker on the legstump, was too much for him, and he retired.
Two for none. The critic in the deck chair felt that the match was asgood as over.
But this idyllic state of things was not to last. The newcomer, a tallman with a light moustache, which he felt carefully after every ball,soon settled down. He proved to be a conversationalist. Until he hadopened his account, which he did with a strong drive to the ropes, hewas silent. When, however, he had seen the ball safely to the boundary,he turned to Reece and began.
'Rather a nice one, that. Eh, what? Yes. Got it just on the rightplace, you know. Not a bad bat this, is it? What? Yes. One of Slogburyand Whangham's Sussex Spankers, don't you know. Chose it myself. Had itin pickle all the winter. Yes.'
'Play, sir,' from the umpire.
'Eh, what? Oh, right. Yes, good make these Sussex--_Spankers_. Oh,well fielded.'
At the word spankers he had effected another drive, but Marriott atmid-off had stopped it prettily.
Soon it began to occur to Norris that it would be advisable to have achange of bowling. Gosling was getting tired, and Baynes apparentlyoffered no difficulties to the batsman on the perfect wicket, theconversational man in particular being very severe upon him. It was atsuch a crisis that the Bishop should have come in. He was Gosling'sunderstudy. But where was he? The innings had been in progress overhalf an hour now, and still there were no signs of him. A man, thoughtNorris, who could cut off during the M.C.C. match (of all matches!),probably on some rotten business of his own, was beyond the pale, andmust, on reappearance, be fallen upon and rent. He--here somethingsmall and red whizzed at his face. He put up his hands to protecthimself. The ball struck them and bounded out again. When a fast bowleris bowling a slip he should not indulge in absent-mindedness. Theconversational man had received his first life, and, as he was carefulto explain to Reece, it was a curious thing, but whenever he was let
off early in his innings he always made fifty, and as a rule a century.Gosling's analysis was spoilt, and the match in all probability lost.And Norris put it all down to Gethryn. If he had been there, this wouldnot have happened.
'Sorry, Gosling,' he said.
'All right,' said Gosling, though thinking quite the reverse. And hewalked back to bowl his next ball, conjuring up a beautiful vision inhis mind. J. Douglas and Braund were fielding slip to him in thevision, while in the background Norris appeared, in a cauldron ofboiling oil.
'Tut, tut,' said Baker facetiously to the raging captain.
Baker's was essentially a flippant mind. Not even a moment of solemnagony, such as this, was sacred to him.
Norris was icy and severe.
'If you want to rot about, Baker,' he said, 'perhaps you'd better goand play stump-cricket with the juniors.'
'Well,' retorted Baker, with great politeness, 'I suppose seeing youmiss a gaper like that right into your hands made me think I wasplaying stump-cricket with the juniors.'
At this point the conversation ceased, Baker suddenly remembering thathe had not yet received his First Eleven colours, and that it wouldtherefore be rash to goad the captain too freely, while Norris, for hispart, recalled the fact that Baker had promised to do some Latin versefor him that evening, and might, if crushed with some scathingrepartee, refuse to go through with that contract. So there was silencein the slips.
The partnership was broken at last by a lucky accident. Theconversationalist called his partner for a short run, and when thatunfortunate gentleman had sprinted some twenty yards, reconsidered thematter and sent him back. Reece had the bails off before the victim hadcompleted a third of the return journey.
For some time after this matters began to favour the School again. Withthe score at a hundred and five, three men left in two overs, onebowled by Gosling, the others caught at point and in the deep offJennings, who had deposed Baynes. Six wickets were now down, and theenemy still over a hundred behind.
But the M.C.C. in its school matches has this peculiarity. Howeverbadly it may seem to stand, there is always something up its sleeve. Inthis case it was a professional, a man indecently devoid of anything inthe shape of nerves. He played the bowling with a stolid confidence,amounting almost to contempt, which struck a chill to the hearts of theSchool bowlers. It did worse. It induced them to bowl with the soleobject of getting the conversationalist at the batting end, thusenabling the professional to pile up an unassuming but rapidlyincreasing score by means of threes and singles.
As for the conversationalist, he had made thirty or more, and wantedall the bowling he could get.
'It's a very curious thing,' he said to Reece, as he faced Gosling,after his partner had scored a three off the first ball of the over,'but some fellows simply detest fast bowling. Now I--' He never finishedthe sentence. When he spoke again it was to begin a new one.
'How on earth did that happen?' he asked.
'I think it bowled you,' said Reece stolidly, picking up the two stumpswhich had been uprooted by Gosling's express.
'Yes. But how? Dash it! What? I can't underst--. Most curious thing Iever--dash it all, you know.'
He drifted off in the direction of the Pavilion, stopping on the way toask short leg his opinion of the matter.
'Bowled, Sammy,' said Reece, putting on the bails.
'Well bowled, Gosling,' growled Norris from the slips.
'Sammy the marvel, by Jove,' said Marriott. 'Switch it on, Samuel, moreand more.'
'I wish Norris would give me a rest. Where on earth is that manGethryn?'
'Rum, isn't it? There's going to be something of a row about it. Norrisseems to be getting rather shirty. Hullo! here comes the DeathlessAuthor.'
The author referred to was the new batsman, a distinguished novelist,who played a good deal for the M.C.C. He broke his journey to thewicket to speak to the conversationalist, who was still engaged withshort leg.
'Bates, old man,' he said, 'if you're going to the Pavilion you mightwait for me. I shall be out in an hour or two.'
Upon which Bates, awaking suddenly to the position of affairs, went onhis way.
With the arrival of the Deathless Author an unwelcome change came overthe game. His cricket style resembled his literary style. Both werestraightforward and vigorous. The first two balls he received fromGosling he drove hard past cover point to the ropes. Gosling, who hadbeen bowling unchanged since the innings began, was naturally feeling alittle tired. He was losing his length, and bowling more slowly thanwas his wont. Norris now gave him a rest for a few overs, Bruce goingon with rather innocuous medium left-hand bowling. The professionalcontinued to jog along slowly. The novelist hit. Everything seemed tocome alike to him. Gosling resumed, but without effect, while at theother end bowler after bowler was tried. From a hundred and ten thescore rose and rose, and still the two remained together. A hundred andninety went up, and Norris in despair threw the ball to Marriott.
'Here you are, Marriott,' he said, 'I'm afraid we shall have to tryyou.'
'That's what I call really nicely expressed,' said Marriott to theumpire. 'Yes, over the wicket.'
Marriott was a slow, 'House-match' sort of bowler. That is to say, in aHouse match he was quite likely to get wickets, but in a First Elevenmatch such an event was highly improbable. His bowling looked verysubtle, and if the ball was allowed to touch the ground it occasionallybroke quite a remarkable distance.
The forlorn hope succeeded. The professional for the first time in hisinnings took a risk. He slashed at a very mild ball almost a wide onthe off side. The ball touched the corner of the bat, and soared up inthe direction of cover-point, where Pringle held it comfortably.
'There you are,' said Marriott, 'when you put a really scientificbowler on you're bound to get a wicket. Why on earth didn't I go onbefore, Norris?'
'You wait,' said Norris, 'there are five more balls of the over tocome.'
'Bad job for the batsman,' said Marriott.
There had been time for a run before the ball reached Pringle, so thatthe novelist was now at the batting end. Marriott's next ball was notunlike his first, but it was straighter, and consequently easier to getat. The novelist hit it into the road. When it had been brought back hehit it into the road again. Marriott suggested that he had better havea man there.
The fourth ball of the over was too wide to hit with any comfort, andthe batsman let it alone. The fifth went for four to square leg, almostkilling the umpire on its way, and the sixth soared in the old familiarmanner into the road again. Marriott's over had yielded exactlytwenty-two runs. Four to win and two wickets to fall.
'I'll never read another of that man's books as long as I live,' saidMarriott to Gosling, giving him the ball. 'You're our only hope, Sammy.Do go in and win.'
The new batsman had the bowling. He snicked his first ball for asingle, bringing the novelist to the fore again, and Samuel WilberforceGosling vowed a vow that he would dismiss that distinguished novelist.
But the best intentions go for nothing when one's arm is feeling likelead. Of all the miserable balls sent down that afternoon that one ofGosling's was the worst. It was worse than anything of Marriott's. Itflew sluggishly down the pitch well outside the leg stump. The novelistwatched it come, and his eye gleamed. It was about to bounce for thesecond time when, with a pleased smile, the batsman stepped out. Therewas a loud, musical report, the note of a bat when it strikes the ballfairly on the driving spot.
The man of letters shaded his eyes with his hand, and watched the balldiminish in the distance.
'I rather think,' said he cheerfully, as a crash of glass told of itsarrival at the Pavilion, 'that that does it.'
He was perfectly right. It did.
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