Jeremy gave himself another catch, threw the wool to his wife and drifted out. He came back in ten minutes with his bat under his arm.
"Really, it has wintered rather well," he said, "considering that it has been in the boot cupboard all the time. We ought to have put some camphor in with it, or—I know there's SOMETHING you do to bats in the winter. Anyhow, the splice is still there."
"It looks very old," said Mrs Jeremy. "Is that really your new one?"
"Yes, this is the one that played the historic innings. It has only had one ball in its whole life, and that was on the edge. The part of the bat that I propose to use this season will therefore come entirely fresh to the business."
"You ought to have oiled it, Jeremy."
"Oil—that was what I meant. I'll do it now. We'll give it a good rub down. I wonder if there's anything else it would like?"
"I think, most of all, it would like a little practice."
"My dear, that's true. It said in the paper that on the County grounds practice was already in full swing." He made an imaginary drive. "I don't think I shall take a FULL swing. It's so much harder to time the ball. I say, do YOU bowl?"
"Very badly, Jeremy."
"The worse you bowl the more practice the bat will get. Or what about Baby? Could she bowl to me this afternoon, do you think, or is her cold too bad?"