Facing the Dingdonglas' swift bowler, after a smart short-hit run Billy sent a well-pitched ball for four, a rattling, straight-hit drive. But in trying to repeat the stroke off the next ball he misjudged, and, skying the sphere, was easily caught.
"One wicket for twenty!" of which the half-caste contributed fifteen.
After this the troubles of the batsmen set in. The Dingdongs were strong in bowling talent, and possessed a local Spofforth, whose lightning deliveries shot and kicked in a marvellous fashion. Joe, going in fifth man, stayed the "rot" for a while, but was foolishly run out by his mate.
The Tareelians were all out in an hour for the small total of forty-seven. If the down-river boys were despondent over this score, the up-rivers were correspondingly jubilant. Going to the wickets with plenty of confidence, they rattled up ninety-nine before the last wicket fell; the captain carrying out his bat for a well-earned forty-two.
Adjournment for lunch was now made. We call it lunch by courtesy. It was a big bush feed. This repast was served in the schoolhouse, the rough desks being converted into tables, which were literally covered with good things.
The Dingdonglas' mothers were determined that, whoever won, the boys of both sides should have a rippin' feed. A stuffed sucking-pig, whose savoury odour filled the room, lay at one end. Roast wild duck and a cold pigeon-pie balanced it at the other. An immense round of spiced beef, standing in the centre of the long table, seemed to say: "You may cut and come again." Potatoes and pumpkins smoked in big tin bowls, and all the available space was filled with cakes, puddings, and pies. Needless to say, the onslaught was terrific. They were all sloggers at tuck. Meats, puddings, cakes, tea, and ginger-beer disappeared like magic.
All good things mundane, however, come to an end; especially when the good thing happens to be a dinner. And now, after divers whisperings and nudgings, up stood Captain Joe, amid the cheers of his side.
Joe was silent a moment, nervously looking up and down the board, and heartily wishing himself at the bottom of the deep blue sea. "Mr. Chairman" (addressing the local schoolmaster), "I—we—that is—us fellows from Tareela asked me to tell you—I mean to say, that—that—that—a—it gives us much pleasure—er—er—oh, hang it all!—I—I mean—er—this is the jolliest blow in the way of tuck we've ever had." Joe subsided to the rattle of the knives on the bare board. As soon as the noise ceased, Tom Hawkins jumped up and called: "Three cheers for the Dingdonglas!" which were heartily given.
Half an hour's lounge, and the battle began afresh.
"We've got fifty-two to wipe out before we start even, boys. We can do it, and score plenty more to win the game, if we keep our heads. Anyway, we must have a big try. Billy an' I'll go in first; Tom next, and then Pincher. The order of the rest of you depends on the way things turn out."