Then it was that Satan entered into the Babe’s soul, and from this point an analysis of Jones’s strokes is worth recording.

(I.)Secured position for the second hoop.
(II.)Tried to regain position for the second hoop.
(III.)Wired for the second hoop.
(IV.)A curious stroke in which the cage was torn up and twisted as if by some convulsion of Nature, and had to be replaced in position and straightened.
(V.)Hit the Babe’s ball, but played out of turn. Ball replaced, and stroke played again. No result, but left near the further stump.
(VI.)Failed to secure position for the second hoop.
(VII.)Secured position for the second hoop.
(VIII.)A cross-country hit from below the willow-tree into the same beautiful laurestinus.
(IX.)Captured the Babe’s ball, and sent it to the feet of the man with the beehive hat.
(X.)} Returned by stages to the second hoop.
(XI.)
(XII.)Sent the Babe through the cage by accident.
(XIII.)Secured position for the second hoop.

At this point Mr. Jones gave vent to a most regrettable remark about the Babe, and his nose swelled a little. Such a result was excusable, for the Babe’s diabolical ingenuity in attacking him had only been equalled by his diabolical luck. Twice,—for the ground was not well-rolled—had his ball come skipping and hopping along, and had pounced upon his adversary’s like a playful kitten, and twice he had cannoned violently off a hoop onto it. But about this point his luck had shown signs of failing, and he sheltered himself for a few strokes near his partner, who together with Gingham had been plodding slowly and steadily round the hoops. Altogether the game had been like “Air with Variations,” the Babe and Mr. Jones taking brilliant firework excursions across the theme. But for a little while it seemed as if the cup of the Babe’s iniquities was full, and for ten minutes he kept falling into the hand of his adversaries with the most surprising persistence. But the end was not yet.

Half an hour later the position was as follows:

Reggie and Gingham were rovers, the Babe had not been through the cage coming back, but Jones had only the two last hoops to pass, and it was Jones’s turn. The Babe was getting a little excited, and the lust for vengeance was on Jones. He had even gone so far as to advise the Babe what to do on one occasion, and the Babe had answered him shortly in a high, tremulous voice.

The Babe’s ball was in position for the cage, and theoretically Jones was wired to him. But his ball, violently and maliciously struck, curled in a complicated manner off the cage wires and hit the Babe’s.

“That’s a beastly fluke,” said that gentleman in an excited contralto.

Jones could afford to be generous.

“It did turn it off a little,” he said pacifically, “but I think it would have hit it anyhow.”

“Then you think wrong,” said the Babe outwardly calm.