"The Budget," said Myra and Archie, exchanging anxious glances.
"Ha, that's good," he said, "that's very good! 'If the Chancellor of the Exchequer imagines that he can make his iniquitous Budget more acceptable to a disgusted public by treating it in a spirit of airy persiflage he is at liberty to try. But airy persiflage, when brought into contact with the determined temper of a nation——'"
"Who is the hairy Percy, anyhow?" said Thomas to himself.
The Major glared at the interrupter for a moment. Then—for he knows his weakness, and is particularly fond of Thomas—he threw his paper down and laughed. "Well," he said, "are we going to win to-day?" And while he and Archie talked about the wicket his daughter removed The Times to a safe distance.
"But there aren't eleven of you, here," said Miss Fortescue to me, "and if you and Mr Simpson and Major Mannering aren't very good you'll be beaten. It's against the village the first two days, isn't it?"
"When I said we weren't very good, I only meant we didn't make many runs. Mr Simpson is a noted fast bowler, the Major has a M.C.C. scarf, which can be seen quite easily at point, and I keep wicket. Between us we dismiss many a professor. Just as they are shaping for a cut, you know, they catch sight of the Major's scarf, lose their heads and give me an easy catch. Then Archie and Thomas take centuries, one of the gardeners bends them from the off and makes them swim a bit, the Vicar of his plenty is lending us two sons, Tony and Dahlia Blair come down this morning, and there is a chauffeur who plays for keeps. How many is that?"
"Eleven, isn't it?"
"It ought only to be ten," said Myra, who had overheard.
"Oh yes, I was counting Miss Blair," said Miss Fortescue.
"We never play more than ten a side," said Archie.