But during the next quarter of an hour these five were not made. The new-comer contented himself with playing on the defensive, and with the knowledge to trouble him of the game resting entirely on his shoulders, Burr major grew more and more nervous, missing excellent chances that he would have jumped at earlier in his innings.
“Four to win.” Then the fresh boy got a chance, and made one which sent our lads nearly frantic.
“Three only to win,” and there seemed to be not a doubt of our success now,—for it was “our” success, though I had had nothing to do with the result.
And now Burr major had a splendid chance, but he was too nervous to take it, and the over proved blank, as did the next. But in the one which followed, the fresh boy sent a ball just by mid-wicket, a run was stolen, and I, too, grew so excited that I forgot my headache and rose to my knees.
It was a fresh over, a change had been made in the bowling, and the first ball was delivered and stopped.
The second ball went rushing by the wicket, but it was not wide; and now the third ball was bowled. It seemed to be an easy one, and in the midst of the most profound excitement, Burr major gathered himself together for a big hit, struck out, and—the ball went flying out of the field?
No; Burr major just missed it, the off-bail was bowled clean and fell a dozen yards away.
We were beaten.