“Never mind,” said Courtenay, “I want to bat. Look here, you, sir, can you play cricket?”
“Yes,” I said, “a little.”
“Yes, sir, you beggar; how many more times am I to tell you! Come out in the field. You’ve got to bowl for us. Here, catch!”
He threw a cricket-ball he had in his hand at me with all his might, and in a nasty spiteful way, but I caught it, and in a jeering way Philip shouted:
“Well fielded. Here, come on, Court. We’ll make the beggar run.”
I hesitated, for I wanted to go on with my work, but these were my master’s sons, and I felt that I ought to obey.
“What are you standing staring like that for, pauper?” cried Philip. “Didn’t you hear Mr Courtenay say you were to come on and bowl?”
“What do you want, young gentleman?” said a voice that was very welcome to me; and Mr Solomon came from behind the great laurels.
“What’s that to you, Browny? He’s coming to bowl for us in the field,” said Courtenay.
“No, he is not,” said Mr Solomon coolly. “He’s coming to help me in the cucumber house.”