“Ready?” said the Captain.
“Ye—es,” said I; “q—quite ready.”
“Hickory aren’t out yet,” said the kind-hearted Optimist, looking through the window.
“’Wonder why they don’t hurry,” said the General Nuisance; “I can see that Dimsdale’s positively trembling to get at ’em. Besides, the umpires have been out quite five minutes.”
“They’re funking us,” said the Humourist.
Ah, these humourists, what lion hearts they’ve got!
“Perhaps they are being photographed,” some enlightened mind suggested.
The Worry opened the door, although I vainly assured him that there really was no hurry, to have a look at what Hickory were up to.
“Why,” said he breathlessly, “they’re playing two wicket-keepers.”
Sure enough, two men with pads on stood conversing in the doorway of their dressing-room, and looking across at us.