"What's the matter?" shouted Maxton wrathfully, snatching away the volume and banging Bibbs on the head with it. "Why don't you watch the game? Old Ally's bowled off his pads!"
It was only too true: the captain's wicket was down, and "The Happy Family," after a simultaneous ejaculation of "Blow it!" tore up stalks of grass, and began to chew them with a stern expression on their faces.
This disaster seemed but the forerunner of others. Redfern, the next man, had hardly taken his place at the wicket when a sharp click, the glitter of bails twirling in the air, and a Wraxby shout of "Well bowled!" announced his fate; while ten minutes later Rowland, one of the mainstays of the home team, was caught in a most provoking manner at cover-point.
"Oh, bother it all!" sighed "Rats; this is nothing but a procession."
"Now, Oaks, old chap, do your best for us!" cried Allingford.
"All right," returned the other, laughing, as he paused for a moment outside the pavilion to fasten the strap of his batting-glove; "I'm going to make runs this journey, or die in the attempt."
Oaks was undoubtedly a regular Briton, just the sort of fellow to turn the fortunes of a losing game. He walked up to the wicket as coolly as though it were enclosed within a practice net, patted down the ground with the flat of his bat in a manner which seemed to imply that he had "come to stay," and then proceeded to hit three twos in his first "over."
This dashing commencement was but the prelude to a brilliant bit of rapid scoring: twos and threes followed each other in quick succession. Allingford shouted, the crowd roared, while "The Happy Family" gambolled about on one another's chests and stomachs, and squealed with delight. Like the poet's brook, Oaks might have exclaimed, "Men may come, and men may go, but I go on for ever." When Wraxby changed the bowling, he welcomed the new-comer by sending the first ball into the next field, and continued to cut and drive in such a gallant manner that even Bibbs, standing up to get the full use of his lungs, shouted, "Go 'long!" and "Well hit!" until his face was the colour of a poppy.
"I say!" exclaimed Carton, as the eighth wicket fell, "I wish one of these next two chaps would hang on a bit, and give Oaks a chance of getting a few more; it must be nearly eighty up."
"Thurston, you're in!" came from the scorer.