“Morris is out.”
“Good gracious! How?” asked Ellerby, emerging from the room with one pad on his leg and the other in his hand.
“L.-b.-w. First ball.”
“My aunt! Who’s in next? Not me?”
“No. Berridge. For goodness sake, Berry, stick a bat in the way, and not your legs. Watch that de Freece man like a hawk. He breaks like sin all over the shop. Hullo, Morris! Bad luck! Were you out, do you think?” A batsman who has been given l.-b.-w. is always asked this question on his return to the pavilion, and he answers it in nine cases out of ten in the negative. Morris was the tenth case. He thought it was all right, he said.
“Thought the thing was going to break, but it didn’t.”
“Hear that, Berry? He doesn’t always break. You must look out for that,” said Burgess helpfully. Morris sat down and began to take off his pads.
“That chap’ll have Berry, if he doesn’t look out,” he said.
But Berridge survived the ordeal. He turned his first ball to leg for a single.
This brought Marsh to the batting end; and the second tragedy occurred.