"Because, you horrid little tuberculous maggot, it was a no-ball. Besides, you smell."
The little boy looked defiantly at him, and, pointing to me, said:
"Bowler's umpire didn't give 'no-ball.'"
"Then," said Penny promptly, "he ought to have done."
I was so shocked at this unscrupulous method of sacrificing me to save his reputation that I shouted indignantly: "You're a liar!"
Later a warm discussion arose between the batsman and the bowler as to whether the former could be out, if "centre" had not been given to him properly. I took no part in it, but looked significantly at Pennybet. He gazed reproachfully at me, as much as to say: "How could you suggest such a thing?" I walked over to him, ostensibly to ask his advice. The quarrel continued, most of the fieldsmen asserting that the batsman was out: they wanted an innings. Unperceived, we strolled leisurely away and disappeared round a corner. The last thing that I heard was the batsman's voice shouting: "I'm not an ass. I haven't got four legs, so sucks for you!"
§2
Reaching the road, we linked arms with the affection born of sharing a crime and the risk of detection.
"Where are we going to?" asked I.
"Ee, bless me, my man. Down town, of course."