Willow the king

by J. C. Snaith

It was perhaps the sardonic countenance of point that stirred the old Adam in me, for suddenly I took heart of grace, recollected the Captain’s “Play your usual, and you’re bound to get ’em,” and made up my mind to play out at H. C. Trentham as though my life depended on it. All the same, I could have wished that the cap I wore was my own, and not two sizes smaller than it should be, and that I could divest my brain of Miss Grace’s sinister remark anent Charlie’s arm getting over the screen, at the end at which (doubtless at her suggestion) he had gone on to bowl. Besides, he was grinning in a way that, though surely very self-satisfied and ridiculous, was disconcerting to a high degree. I certainly think that if in the umpire’s opinion a bowler takes too great liberties with his face at any period of his delivery of the ball, the said umpire should be empowered to “no-ball” the said bowler. Probably the counties will petition M.C.C.

I planted my right foot on the edge of the crease with mathematical care, and set myself to meet the best bowler at either ’Varsity since Sammy Woods. My straining eyes never left him for an instant as he picked the ball up, worked his thumb up and down the seam, rubbed it on the ground, and then walked jauntily to his starting-point. I could see him all the way; the beautiful clear sunlight, the bright new red ball, and my own intentness almost enabled me to read the maker’s name on the cover as he held it in his hand whilst he walked, trotted, galloped to the crease. As he brought his arm high over his head, despite the cessation of the screen’s assistance, I could see the thumb and two fingers in which he grasped the ball and every bit of his powerful wrist work. I had no time to think or to know where the ball was, however. But as it came humming from his hand instinct said, “Go forward hard!” and forward I went, leg, bat, and elbow, for all that I was worth. There was a delicious vibration that told me the ball was timed to the second full in the middle of the bat. It flew like a streak to mid-off all along the carpet; but mid-off happened to be a county man, and it was back in the bowler’s hands and threatening the Captain’s wicket just as “No!” had left my mouth. And there was a personal compliment implied in the blinking eyes of H. C. Trentham and the benevolent smile of H. J. Halliday that was a recompense for all the pains I was enduring and many hours of “duck”-requited toil. I was conscious of an elated thrill running through my fibres as I awaited number two. Again I watched it eagerly as it came spinning through the sunlight and humming like a top; again I could not say exactly where it was, but out went bat, and leg, and elbow as before, and mid-off was afforded another opportunity for the exhibition of his skill. I set myself defiantly for number three. Let H.C. Trentham bowl his heart out. The third came along humming, and whizzing, and spinning in the manner of the other two, but I had a vague sort of idea that it was a little wider and a little farther up. It was faster than an express train, but it merely appeared to delicately kiss the middle of the bat in the gentlest, sweetest way.

“Forward I went, leg, bat, and elbow.”
Willow, the King.] [Page [74].

“Oh, well hit!” came the voice of the Captain down the wicket. The crowd broke into a roar, and in a perfect ecstasy I looked into what I guessed should be the direction of the ball. Behold! there was cover-point on the verge of the boundary waiting whilst a spectator officiously returned it. It was merely the force of habit that was responsible for that fourer, but the sensation of pure rapture was incomparable. As there is nothing in the whole range of poetry or prose with which to point a parallel, it must be allowed that beside a perfectly-timed boundary hit, on a hard ground, from fast bowling, all other delights of this life are as nothingness.

The fourth ball came along in much the same way as the third, yet was appreciably shorter and slower. I left it severely alone. The fifth was a regular uprooting yorker, but I got my bat down in time and chopped it away. So much for the crack’s first over. I had broken my duck in the most handsome manner; I could see the ball; I was beginning to feel alarmingly happy; I never felt so fit and so much like making runs. And I had only to continue as I’d started to be sure of a trial for the county next week against Somerset. But I must restrain my eagerness, play steady, and keep cool.

The Captain adopted the same tactics of masterly inactivity in regard to the second over of the youthful T.S.M. He was quite an ordinary club bowler compared to his great brother at the other end. A shortish one was hooked quietly round to leg for a single, and it was my turn to meet him. There was not a hint of my previous vacillation in the way I took my guard. The buzzing in my head had altogether gone; my eye was as clear and keen as possible. I had had my baptism of fire already. This was very common stuff; indeed, so much so that I took the liberty of turning the second ball I had of it to leg for three.

It being the last ball of the over, I had again to face H. C. With a bowler of his quality it requires a man of very great inexperience to be quite at ease or to think of attempting liberties. Therefore, again I concentrated the whole of my attention on every ball; and the billiard-table pitch and a straight, unflinching bat enabled me to cope with his second over. It was a maiden, but it called for brilliancy on the part of mid-off, and a magnificent bit of fielding by Carteret in the slips, who saved a keen late cut from being a boundary to make it one. Each ball was timed to the instant; my wrists and the rare old blade with the wrapping at the bottom seemed to be endowed with magic; the sun was just in the right place; I had forgotten all about my cap, the screen, the might of the attack—forgotten everything but the joy of achievement, so supreme was the sense of making runs with certainty and ease from county bowling, in the presence of an appreciative crowd, on a great occasion. Here was Elysium. It was a sufficient recompense for a hundred failures. If I kept playing this game I couldn’t help but get ’em. Fifty was assured, perhaps; who knew——? But no man can be sanguine in regard to his first century. That is a bourn that few travellers ever reach.

The Captain played T. S. M. gently for another single. I trotted down blithely to the other end. He was still bowling his slow leg-breaks, but it would be folly to attempt to drive him, as his flight was so deceptive; besides, he had three men out. One ball which he delivered a full two yards behind the crease was tossed up so high that it was difficult to resist, as it appeared to be almost a half-volley at first sight. It actually dropped shorter than his others, however. This was the ball with which he usually got his wickets; and although, crude as it was, it might do well enough for schoolboys, it was to be hoped that he didn’t expect a man who intended to appear next week for his county to fall a victim to it! If he did, he would very probably be disappointed. The feel of that three to leg was still lingering in my wrist, and I was certain that this stroke could be played with impunity on this wicket. Besides, it would show the Captain at the other end that I was by no means content to follow his lead, but had resources of my own. Again, if I persevered in getting T. S. M. away to leg, he would be certain to pitch them up a bit, and if he could only be persuaded to do that, sure as fate I should go out to him and lift him clean over the ring! It wasn’t such a very big hit; besides, I felt capable of doing anything with ordinary club bowling. Really, I never felt so fit, and on such excellent terms with everybody and everything! When I received the first ball of T. S. M.’s next over I had a plan of the positions of the on-side fielders in the corner of my eye. But it was such an excellent length that I had to play defensively. To my infinite pleasure, I immediately saw that the second was his usual shortish one. I promptly prepared to help myself to another three, stepped into my wicket so to do, but was so anxious to seize my opportunity that I had not troubled to note exactly how short it was. Therefore it rose a little higher than I expected, and I was also a little bit too soon. It hit me just above the pad with an almost caressing gentleness.

“How was that?” said the bowler, turning round to the umpire.