Jim took the ball again, his fingers pressing the red surface almost lovingly. He had quite waked up; his head was buzzing with "theories," and his old power seemed to have come back to his fingers. The first ball came with a beautiful leg-break, and the Mulgoan bat swiped at it wildly, and vainly. Seven for 107.
Cunjee was getting excited as the eighth man came in—a wiry and long youth with a stolid face. He contented himself with blocking Jim's bowling, snatching a single presently so that Billings would have the responsibility—to which that gentleman promptly responded by smiting Jim for three. That brought the stolid youth back to power—an honour he did not wish. He hit the next ball softly back to the bowler. Eight for 111; and Cunjee howling steadily, with all its youth, and some of its beauty, battering with sticks on tins. A dog ran across the ground, and was greeted with a yell that made it scurry away in terror, its tail concealed between its legs. Just then Cunjee had no time for dogs.
But it was Mr. Billings' turn, and Mr. Billings was busy. He made good use of the over—the score mounted, and the Cunjee hopes swung lower. It was still eight—for 115—when a single brought his companion to face little Harry Blake, the other Cunjee bowler, who was plainly feeling the weight of his position. He sent the ball down nervously—it slipped as it left his hand, and the Mulgoan stepped out to meet it, while Harry gasped with horror. Up, up, it soared—a boundary surely! Then there was a roar as Wally Meadows gathered himself together, raced, and sprang for the red disc, spinning over his head just at the fence. It seemed to hover above him—then his hands closed, and, unable to stop himself, Wally somersaulted, rolling over and over in the long grass of the outfield. He sat up, his brown face lit by a wide smile, the ball still clutched, held above his head. Nine for 115!
The tension was on bowlers and batsmen alike now—all save Dan Billings, whose calmness was unimpaired. He greeted the tenth man cheerfully—and the tenth man was Murty O'Toole, very hot and nervous, and certainly the most miserable man on the ground as he faced "Masther Jim's" bowling, and knew that the alien hopes of Mulgoa depended on him. Out in the open a Mulgoa man shrugged his shoulders, remarking, "He won't try!" and was promptly attacked furiously by three small boys of Cunjee, who pelted him with clods and abuse from a safe distance. Murty looked at Jim with a little half-apologetic gesture, and Jim grinned.
"Play up, Murty, old chap!" he said.
It was not in vain that he had schooled the stockman in the paddock at Billabong. He sent down a treacherous ball, and Murty met it and played it boldly for two, amid Mulgoan shrieks. Two to tie and three to win—no, one fewer now, for the Irishman had turned a swift ball to leg, and only quick fielding had prevented a boundary. A hundred and seventeen! Murty heaved a sigh of relief as he leaned on his bat at the bowler's end and glanced across at Jim.
"Praises be, 'twill be Billings to hit it, an' not O'Toole!" he muttered. "I have put me fut in it sufficient f'r wance!"
The ball left Jim's hand with a whizz, and Billings stepped out to meet it. Just what happened no one saw clearly for a moment, it all came to pass so quickly. Then an Irish yell from Murty O'Toole woke the echoes, even as the bowler's hand flashed up above his head—and the big stockman flung up his bat in an ecstasy of delight. Billings bit off a sharp word and left his crease; and Cunjee woke to the fact that the Mulgoan captain was caught and bowled. The match was theirs—by one run!
When Cunjee woke it became very thoroughly awake. They rushed the ground, cheering, shouting and hurling hats and caps into the air, irrespective of their owners' wishes. There was a demonstration to carry Jim in, which that hero promptly quenched by taking to his heels and leaving his too affectionate friends far in the rear. Behind him Cunjee and Mulgoa seethed together, and the air was rent with cheers. Free fights were in active progress in at least five places on the ground. It was clearly Cunjee's day out.
Jim met Wally with a grin that was distinctly sheepish.