“No—not that, Bill. Not in that way. It’s a different feeling altogether. I can’t forget it ... because I can’t place it.... I seem to have seen it before somehow. The question is where?”
“The Eton and Harrow match at Lords’,” I suggested sarcastically.
“Don’t be an ass. Lords’! I keep conjuring up a photograph—Lords’! Don’t suppose she’s ever heard of Lords’ ... let alone ever been there. ... Holy Smoke, Bill, I’ve got it!!! And by a miracle of miracles, your mention of Lords’ gave it to me. Great Scott! What a bit of luck.”
Now this was the manner of Mr. Bathurst’s memory.
“Do you ever see The Prattler, Bill?”
“Sometimes! Always when I’m here—Sir Charles Considine has taken it since it started!”
“He has? Better and better, laddie. I’m on the crest of the wave. Listen! This is what I’ve remembered. Do you remember the second Test Match of the Australian tour in 1921? At Lords’.”
“What are you getting at?” I said rather peevishly. “Are you trying to prove that it rained or something—you know it always rains for Test Matches.”
“No—I’m deadly serious. The Australians won easily—but that isn’t the point—the last ball bowled—by Durston it was, flew out of his hand and went somewhere in the region of ‘cover.’ Before the umpire called ‘wide’ Bardsley, who was batting at the time, chased after it, got to it, and promptly ‘despatched it to the boundary’ as the reporters said. I remember the incident perfectly now.” He smiled with satisfaction.
“Well,” I said, “What in the name of thunder has this to do with Marshall?”