Eight and six shillings were sums immediately named by men who thought the pitch looked more promising than Jim did.
“Any one offer more for this pitch?” asked the manager, taking up a pebble from a little pile that lay at his elbow, and casting it into the air.
While that pebble was in its flight, any one might offer for the pitch, but the instant it touched the ground, the bargain was held to be concluded with the last bidder.
A man named Oats, who had been in a hesitating state of mind, here exclaimed “Five shillings” (that is, offered to work the pitch for five shillings on every twenty shillings’ worth sent to grass); next instant the stone fell, and the pitch was sett to Oats.
Poor James Penrose’s pitch was the next sett.
“James Penrose’s late pitch,” read the manager, giving the details of it in terms somewhat similar to those already sett, and stating that the required “pare,” or force to be put on it, was two men and a boy.
“Put me down for it,” said Maggot.
“Have you got your pare?” asked Mr Cornish.
“Iss, sur.”
“Their names?”