Tommy continued to bat, and I lounged, unnoticed, upon the rails, watching the practice.
Presently the doctor took a turn, and I, too, was surprised at his evident mastery of the art, for I had long since disregarded him as a sportsman.
Tommy's lobs were easy enough, and once the doctor drove a hot return straight at his legs.
Tommy jumped out of the way, but the doctor called to him sharply:
"Field up," he said, and Tommy coloured.
Another return came straight and hard, but Tommy stooped and held it, and the doctor dropped his bat.
"Good," I heard him say. "Stand up to 'em like a man—hurts a bit at the time—but it saves heaps of trouble in the end, and—and the other fellow doesn't score."
They were looking straight into each other's eyes, as man to man, and after a pause the doctor spoke again, in a low voice. I could not hear what he said, but Tommy's face was grave as he listened.
I sauntered on down the lane, and a few minutes later felt a hand on my arm.
"Well, and what did you think of it?"