"There," he said, "there's ole Walter Lees asking to be took off."
"Surely not," I answered. "Dalmeny had a telegram just now, and Lees is asking if it's the three-thirty winner."
Lees then began to bowl again.
"There you are," I said triumphantly, but my neighbour wouldn't hear of it.
"Ole Lees asked to be took off, and ole Dalmeny" (I forget how he pronounced it, but I know it was one of the wrong ways)—"ole Dalmeny told him he'd have to stick on a bit."
Now that made a great impression on me, and I agreed with my friend that Dalmeny was in the wrong.
"When I am captaining a team," I said, "and one of the bowlers wants to come off, I am always ready to meet him half-way, more than half-way. Better than that, if I have resolved upon any course of action, I always let my team know beforehand; and I listen to their objections in a fair-minded spirit."
It was in accordance with this rule of mine that I said casually, as we were changing, "If we win the toss I shall put them in."
There was a chorus of protest.
"That's right, go it," I said. "Henry objects because, as a first-class cricketer, he is afraid of what The Sportsman will say if we lose. The editor naturally objects—it ruins his chance of being mistaken for a county player if he has to field first. Bolton objects because heavy exercise on a hot day spoils his lunch. Thompson objects because that's the way he earns his living at the Bar. His objection is merely technical, and is reserved as a point of law for the Court of Crown Cases Reserved. Markham is a socialist and objects to authority. Also he knows he's got to field long-leg both ends. Gerald——"