‘Who wanted to run him out?’ said Rakes angrily; ‘I didn’t. It was his own fault. There was no run, and I didn’t want to get out through his foolishness.’
‘You’d better tell him that when the match is over,’ said Will Brown. ‘He’ll probably want an explanation. If he believes you, well and good; if not—oh my, won’t you just catch it!’
Bully Rakes took up a pad and hurled it at his tormentor.
‘Get out of this, you little beast!’ he said. ‘You know I can’t touch you here, or you’d not be so cheeky.’
‘Mind and keep clear of Edgar’s left if it comes to war,’ said Will Brown. ‘I fancy you know he’s a good fist at the end of his left arm.’
Bully Rakes jumped to his feet and made towards the speaker; but Will Brown was too quick for him, and shot out at the side door.
Meanwhile the game was at a critical stage. Edgar Foster was playing at his best. He did not give a chance, nor did he throw away an opportunity of stealing a run. He knew that every run was of vast importance. A run lost might mean the match lost. Sayers junior was in with him, and blocked steadily while his captain made the runs. The fielders were on the alert, and were smart and active, and many a run was saved. Harold Simpson was a good general, and handled his men well.
‘It does one good to watch a game like this,’ said Robert Foster to Dr. Hook. ‘I have seldom seen lads field better, and Edgar is batting really well. Who is the little chap keeping his end up so well?’
‘Sayers junior,’ said Dr. Hook. ‘He’s helping your son famously.’
‘Playing a most unselfish game,’ said Robert Foster. ‘That is how matches are won. A selfish player at any game is a big handicap on his side.’