“Well, I likes upright and down-straight,” said Bumpkin, “it’ll goo furdest in th’ long run.”
“Yes,” said O’Rapley, “and the longer the run the furder it’ll go.”
“So ’t wool; but if you doan’t mind, sir, I’d like to get nearer that ’ere fireplace.”
“The funnel—very well.” And as they moved Mr. O’Rapley, in the exuberance of his spirits, delivered another ball at the chimney, which apparently took the middle stump, for the chimney again broke in half.
“Got him!” said he. “I quite agree, and I’ll tell you for why. You can play a straight ball if you mind what you are about—just take your bat so, and bring your left elbow well round so, and keep your bat, as you say, upright and down-straight, so—and there you are. And there, indeed, Mr. Bumpkin was, on his back, for the boat at that moment bumped so violently against the side of the pier that many persons were staggering about as if they were in a storm.
“Zounds!” said the farmer, as he was being picked up—“these ’ere booats, I doan’t like ’em—gie me the ole-fashioned uns.”
Now came the usual hullabaloo, “Stand back!—pass on!—out of the way! now, then, look sharp there!” and the pushing of the gangway against people’s shins as though they were so many skittles to be knocked over, and then came the slow process of “passing out.”
“There’s one thing,” whispered O’Rapley, “if you do break your leg the company’s liable—that’s one comfort.”
“Thankee, sir,” answered Bumpkin, “but I bean’t a gwine to break my leg for the sake o’ a haction—and mebbee ha’ to pay the costs.”