Mr Wallis was summoned, and the affair was soon arranged; and I had the gratification of being present at Mr. Crobble's inauguration.
It was a broiling day, and there was a full field; but he conducted himself manfully, notwithstanding the jokes of the club. He batted exceedingly well, “considering,” as Mr. Wallis remarked; but as for the “runs,” he was completely at fault.
He only attempted it once; but before he had advanced a yard or two, the ball was caught; and the agile player, striking the wicket with ease, exclaimed, amid the laughter of the spectators—“Out! so don't fatigue yourself, I beg, sir.”
And so the match was concluded, amid cheers and shouting, in which the rotund, good-natured novice joined most heartily.
CHAPTER VIII.—The Hunter.
“Hunting may be sport, says I, but I'm blest if its pleasure.”
Two days after the cricket-match, Mr. Crobble paid a visit to my master.
“Well, old fellow, d___ me me, if you ain't a trump—how's your wind?”—kindly enquired Mr. Timmis.