“See how steady they were all the innings, too!” continued Mr Parrett. “Three coaches out of five wouldn’t lay that down as the first rule of cricket; but it is, especially with youngsters. Be steady first, and be expert next. That’s the right order, and Riddell has discovered it. I would even back a steady eleven of moderate players against a rickety eleven of good ones. In fact, a boy can’t be a cricketer at all, or anything else, unless he’s steady. Now, you see, unless I am mistaken, they will give quite as good an account of themselves at the wickets as they did on the field.”
And off strolled the honest Mr Parrett, bat in hand, to umpire, leaving his hearers not a little impressed with the force of his views on the first principles of cricket.
The master’s prophecy was correct. The Welchers, notwithstanding the fact that they had only twenty-five runs to get to equal their rivals’ first innings, played a steady and careful innings, in which they just trebled the Parretts’ score. The bowling against them was not strong certainly, but they took no liberties with it. Indeed, both the captain and Mr Parrett had so ruthlessly denounced and snubbed anything like “fancy hitting,” that their batting was inclined to err on the side of the over-cautious, and more runs might doubtless have been made by a little freer swing of the bats. However, the authorities were well satisfied. Cusack carried his bat for eighteen, much to his own gratification; and of his companions, Pilbury, Philpot, and Walker each made double figures.
It required all Riddell’s authority, in the face of this splendid achievement, to keep his men from jeopardising their second innings in the field by yielding prematurely to elation.
“For goodness’ sake don’t hulloa till you’re out of the wood!” he said; “they may catch up on you yet. Seventy-five isn’t such a big score after all. If you don’t look out you’ll muddle your chance away, and then how small you’ll look!”
With such advice to hold them in check, they went out as soberly as before to field, and devoted their whole energies to the task of disposing of their enemies’ wickets for the fewest possible runs.
And they succeeded quite as well as before. Indeed, the second innings of the Parretts was a feeble imitation of their first melancholy performance. Parson, King, and Wakefield were the only three who made any stand, and even they fared worse than before. All the side could put together was twenty-one runs, and about this, even, they had great trouble.
When it became known that the Welchers had won the match by an innings and twenty-nine runs, great was the amazement of all Willoughby, and greater still was the mortification of the unlucky Parretts. No more was said about the grand concert in which they intended to celebrate their triumph. They evidently felt they had not much to be proud of, and, consequently, avoiding a public entry into their house, they slunk in quietly, and, shutting out the distant sounds of revelry and rejoicing in the victorious house, mingled their tears over a sympathetic pot of tea, to which even Telson was not invited.