“Don’t be in such a hurry,” said the General Nuisance, with his geniality rising almost to the point of hysteria. “We aren’t even left with one. As a matter of fact we haven’t a bowler of any sort. It’s true that we’ve any amount of the usual small change. I can bowl three long hops and two full tosses in an over, so can you; so can all of us; and that, dear friends, is what we’ve got to do.”
“But you are forgetting Charlie,” said the Optimist of the lion heart.
“Oh dear, no,” said the General Nuisance, “’wouldn’t forget him for the world. If you would only wait and let me break the news with my usual delicacy. Charlie’s just wired to say that his mother-in-law has been taken seriously ill, and that he and Mrs. Charlie have been obliged to go to town.”
Straightway the Ancient wheeled about, and fled—fled with a curse into the recesses of the pavilion, far from the madding crowd, the pitiless sun, the perfect wicket, and those dreadful men from Hickory loosening their arms.
“Tha-ank you! Tha-ank you!” called the bowler, as a pretty little leg hit from J. P. Carteret struck the inoffensive Optimist between the shoulder-blades.
“Comfort,” said I, addressing myself to the General Nuisance, “if there had been the least sense of propriety in that rotten played-out thing called Providence, that ball had hit you on the head.”
“Dear friends,” said the General Nuisance, “don’t you think that Charlie’s mother-in-law well maintains the traditions of her tribe?”
“The abandoned old woman!” cried I.
“Never mind, I think it’s our turn to win the toss,” said the Optimist, unconquered still.
They ought to grant the Victoria Cross to men of this heroic mould, who remain wholly invincible to circumstance. Some credit was due to me as well, for I had the presence of mind to behave as custom, nay, etiquette, demands, when things are going wrong. I broke out into loud and prolonged abuse of the harmless necessary Secretary.