"No, I'm really right-handed," I said. "I played that way by mistake just now. Sorry."
He grunted sceptically, and the bowler came up to have things explained to her. The next ball I hit left-handed for six. (LOUD MUTTERS.)
"Is he really right-handed?" the bowler asked Mrs Oakley.
"I don't know," she said, "I've never seen him before." (SENSATION.)
"I think, if you don't mind, we'd rather you played right-handed."
"Certainly." The next ball was a full pitch, and I took a right-handed six. There was an awful hush. I looked round at the field and prepared to run for it. I felt that they suspected me of all the undiscovered crimes of the year.
"Look here," I said, nearly crying, "I'll play any way you like—sideways, or upside down, or hanging on to the branch of a tree, or—"
The atmosphere was too much for me. I trod on my wickets, burst into tears, and bolted to the tent.
. . . . . . .
"Well," said Dahlia, "we won."