It was a bad beginning for Windlecombe, and bad rapidly changed to worse. Young Daniel bowled steadily and coolly for the first over, in spite of continuous punishment; but thereafter he lost first his temper, and then his head. The smiling grocer played him to all points of the compass; and the more the grocer smiled, the more wildly erratic Daniel’s bowling grew. As for the Rev. Mr. Weaverly, he could do no more than send meek, ingenuous balls trundling diffidently up the pitch; and he was skied with heartrending regularity. The batsmen kept continually running. The little tent seemed to belly out on all sides with the cheering, as a sail with wind.
‘Thirty up!’
‘Thirty fer nauthin’!’
‘Thirty-one! And another’! Thirty-two! Garn, March! Wot a wazegoose! Thirty—’
‘Five! ’Ooray!’
The shout went off in my ear like a punt gun. And then there fell a sudden silence about me, as all strained eyes and ears out to the field. Some altercation was going on, but not between members of the opposing sides. ‘Drop ut, ye ould fule!’ I heard Tom Clemmer roar; and, peering over the crowd, I saw Captain Stallwood, ball in hand, walking up to the pitch. He rolled up his sleeves as he came.
‘Drop ut, I tell ye!’ cried Tom once more, ‘’tis crickut we be playin’, not maarbles, man! Gimme that ball, Stall’ard, or I’ll— Lorsh! what be come to th’ ould—’
The rest was a confused wrangle amongst the whole team. Presently, to our amazement, we saw all drift back to their posts, and old Stallwood take his place triumphantly at the bowling-crease. In the dead quiet that followed, I heard the grocer chuckle richly, as he got ready to smite the Captain all over the field.
The old man stood stock still on the crease, eyeing the batsman solemnly, the ball held low down between his knees. So long he remained in this posture, that at length impatient exclamations began to break out on all sides.
‘Well! now ye ha’ got un, Stall’ard, let ’n goo, mate!’