“Lawson is an utter and consummate ass!” said I. “A man with the intelligence of an owl would surely know that his bowlers were bound to let him down at the eleventh hour. They always do. They always consult their own book before they think about their side. I shall suggest at the next meeting of committee that Lawson be asked to resign. Nature never designed a fool to be a secretary; besides, one looks for foresight in a secretary. Here he’s actually not made the least provision for a case of this sort, which a man with the penetration of the common hedgehog would have anticipated at the beginning of the season. And, Comfort, what’s he doing now? Surely he knows that Middlesex aren’t playing, and of course he’s had the sense to wire for Hearne and Albert Trott.”
“No, I believe not,” drawled the General Nuisance; “but we must give credit, my dear Dimsdale, where credit’s due, for even that submerged Secretary of ours has, impossible as it may appear, gone one better than even your intelligence suggests. He’s just cabled to Australia for Jones and Trumble. They’re not so well known to the Hickory cracks as Jack Hearne and Trott; besides, they’ve been resting all the winter, don’t you know.”
Here the pavilion bell pealed lustily as a signal for the ground to clear immediately, it being now within a few minutes of eleven o’clock. It was a real relief that our conversation with the General Nuisance had at length been interrupted, since I for one could feel a quantity of awful consequences fairly itching in my finger-tips. If nature had not a habit of going out of its way to encourage original sin in all its phases, the General Nuisance must have died with a jerk at a comparatively early period of his development.
The summons was promptly obeyed. The players came trooping in from the remote corners of the playing-piece; and it was observed that while Hickory walked confident, lusty, and obtrusively cheerful, Little Clumpton were in that state of nerves when strong men pluck at their moustaches and their ties. When we entered the dressing-room we found the Captain and the Secretary conferring together in tragic whispers. This in itself was sufficient to strike a chill into the boldest heart; and we stood apart out of pure respect and appreciation for the solemn sight. Presently the Captain rose, and a shudder went through us all, for we saw by his intense expression that he was going out to toss. And we remembered that the Captain was the unluckiest man in England with the spin; that he had won the toss against Hickory last year; that our so-called bowling was absolutely unworthy of the name; that the wicket was perfection; and that the finest batting side that had ever appeared for Hickory was drinking stone-ginger beer and cracking rude jokes in their dressing-room across the way.
Alas, no jokes and ginger beer for Little Clumpton! Even the Humourist forbore to make a pun; the Optimist was silent as the tomb; and two large-hearted persons sat on the face of the General Nuisance, partly in the public interest, and partly that manslaughter might be averted for a time. When the Captain, pale but stern, went forth to toss, the Worry tottered from his seat and softly closed the door. We had no desire for publicity. As for the preliminaries and suspense of the sacred rite itself, in that direction madness lay. The Pessimist alone dared to interrupt the holy peace that pervaded this dull and miserable dressing-room; but he was a man without any of life’s little delicacies, and utterly devoid of the higher instincts and the finer feelings.
“I say, you men,” said he, “we might be a set of Hooligans riding to the assizes in Black Maria to make the acquaintance of Mr. Justice Day. Why doesn’t somebody smile? Suppose you try, Brightside, as you’re always such a jolly cheerful sort o’ Johnny.”
“Shut up,” said the Secretary, “if you desire to avoid what’s happened to that blasted Comfort!”
This pointed reference appeared to touch the General Nuisance in his amour propre, for after a violent struggle he was able to sufficiently disengage his mouth from the vertebral columns of his guardians to painfully suggest:—
“S’pose I give—compliments—club—to—Grace Trentham and ask her to come and—bowl a bit—for Lil Clumpton. She can—give such—a long start—to—the refuse we’ve——”
Here, however, his custodians, by half garrotting him, and the judicious application of Merryweather’s “barn door,” were able to get their refractory charge in hand again.