"Look here, Billy," continued the captain, as the two batsmen walked to the wickets. "They've got two slashing bowlers, but if we can manage to knock 'em out they've no one else of much account. Get your eye well in before you do any slogging."
"All right, Joe! Do me best."
"Your best means steady play and a big score. I'll take the strike."
If Joe was nervous in public speech it was not observable in action. He played Ginger Smith's fast deliveries with confidence, punishing the loose balls and blocking the straight ones. Billy, too, was playing with unwonted caution, and the score, though slowly, was surely mounting up; until after half an hour's play it stood at twenty-five, with no wickets down. There were no boundaries, and every hit was run out.
"Oh, glory, what a swipe!"
Yellow Billy had got hold of one of Ginger's leg balls with a mighty lunge. The ball seemed as if it would go on for ever, and finally rolled into a gutter. They ran six for it.
There was great cheering among the Tareelians. Mr. Simpson, who umpired, forgot for a moment his impartial office. Flinging his hat into the air, he cried, "Bravo, Billy!"
"Thirty-one an' none out. Only twenty-one to get level!"
The boys were now scoring faster; singles, twos, threes were coming with great rapidity. Joe made his first four, a sweet, square cut.
"Forty-nine an' no wickets down!"