Still Edgar Foster kept on increasing his score, and passed his century, to the great delight of his father and his friends.
Connor was now in, and his hits were marvellous. The giant—he was about six feet four—lifted the balls all over the ground, and safely out of the reach of the fielders.
When the last wicket fell Edgar Foster was a hundred and fifty, not out, and the score was five hundred and two runs, or two hundred and fifty ahead of the Englishmen.
Such a grand uphill game it was generally acknowledged had never been played before. Edgar Foster was overwhelmed with congratulations, and Muriel Wylde showed her delight on her face.
‘It was splendid, Edgar,’ she said. ‘I believe you would have made two hundred or more.’
‘I felt like it,’ said Edgar. ‘I knew you were watching me, and that put me on my mettle.’
It seemed well nigh a hopeless task for the Englishmen to get two hundred and fifty runs in the short time at their disposal. However, they lost no time in making a start to try to do so.
Strange to say, they did not bat in anything like the form shown in their first innings. Three wickets fell for under fifty runs, W. G. Grace being unluckily run out.
The Australians fielded with wonderful skill. Hardly a ball got past them, and many boundary hits were saved.
Seven wickets fell for a hundred runs, and now it was the turn of the Australians to endeavour to get their opponents out before the call of time.