I well remember the first time I made Ned’s acquaintance, and I will recall the incident, as giving a fair specimen of the fellow and his peculiarity.
It was a big cricket match, the afternoon was far advanced, the light was getting uncertain, and time was almost up. Our school’s ninth wicket had fallen, and yet there were five runs to get to win, which we could just do, if our last man in was quick.
“Now, Ned!” calls out our captain, coming up to the tent; “look sharp in.”
Ned coolly sat down on the bench in our tent and proceeded to put on a pad.
“Never mind about that! there’s no time,” said our captain impatiently, “and they are bowling slow.”
“Oh, it won’t take a minute,” says Ned, discovering he had been putting the pad on upside down, and proceeding to undo it. We stood round in feverish impatience, and the minute consumed in putting on those miserable leg-fenders seemed like a year.
Ned himself, however, did not seem in the least flurried by our excitement.
“Pity they don’t make these things fasten with springs instead of straps,” he observed, by way of genial conversation.
Oh, how we chafed and fumed!
“Will you look sharp, if you’re going to play at all?” howls our captain.