"What other bowler of any class have you?"
It was true. I mentioned Moles White as a fine slow bowler, and could think of no more "star-turns."
"Well, you come," said Radley, "and bowl at my private net every evening. Your leg-breaks are teasers. I was talking to Lancaster this morning, and he says he doesn't know who will be the last man of the Eleven. Why shouldn't it be you?"
So evening after evening I bowled to Radley, who coached me enthusiastically. I think that he was making a fascinating hobby of training his favourite pupil for the Team, much as an owner delights in running a favourite horse for the Derby. And, when one evening I uprooted his leg-stump twice in succession, he said:
"Good. Now we shall see what we shall see."
In the meantime Lancaster had buttonholed Doe.
"You used to be a great cricketer, usedn't you?"
"When I was a boy, Honion," said Doe.
"And you've slacked abominably."
"Thou sayest so, Honion."