"He did. And very furiously."
"Well, he hardly drives at all, when he's in. He's terribly slow—what they call Nature's reaction. Archie, you will be sorry to hear, has just distinguished himself by putting me in last. He called it ninth wicket down, but I worked it out, and there doesn't seem to be anybody after me. It's simply spite."
"I hope Mr Archie makes some runs," said Dahlia. "I don't mind so much about Wilks, you know."
"I'm afraid he is only going to make fourteen to-day. That's the postman going to bowl to him. He has two deliveries, one at eight A.M. and one at twelve-thirty P.M.—the second one is rather doubtful. Archie always takes guard with the bail, you observe, and then looks round to see if we're all watching."
"Don't be so unkind."
"I'm annoyed," I said, "and I intensely dislike the name Archibald. Ninth wicket down!"
The umpire having called "Play," Joe, the postman, bounded up to the wicket and delivered the ball. Archie played forward with the easy confidence of a school professional when nobody is bowling to him. And then the leg-bail disappeared.
"Oh!" cried Dahlia. "He's out!"
I looked at her, and I looked at Archie's disconsolate back as he made for the pavilion; and I knew what he would want. I got up.
"I must go now," I said. "I've promised to sit on the heavy roller for a bit. Archie will be here in a moment. Will you tell him from me that we both thought he wasn't quite ready for that one, and that it never rose an inch? Thank you very much."