"Ah, well! But the Century of Centuries, the Thousand of Merry May, the suggested knighthood, the coming National Testimonial, H. R. H.'s letter——"
"I never saw a nicer letter, and I hope to see as good wherever I go," interrupted the modest and taciturn giant, with a grin reminiscent of Wickets in the West and "the rapt oration flowing free," in a fourfold iteration of a single sentence.
"Better before the stump than on it, eh, William?" smiled the Sage, who had read his rollicking R. A. Fitzgerald, and understood W. G.'s allusion. "Unlike the other W. G., at present out in the Baltic."
"Ah, he could give the bowling beans, in his own way, which certainly isn't mine," said the Man of Many Centuries.
"What a season!" exclaimed Mr. Punch, preparing to puff.
|
"Centuries to right of us, Centuries to left of us, |
"Centuries all round us, Volley and thunder! |
Mynn was here just now—in my vision. Wish you could have met him, as I dreamed you did! Par nobile fratrum! But even he never hit his hundred hundreds, though he played up to the age of fifty. Well, William mine, you've topped the toppers and cut all records. May the National Testimonial do likewise. Wish you a sovereign reward for every good hit with which you've pleased the populace—a 'quid' for every quo. And, to prove the sincerity of my love and admiration for the greatest Cricketer of all time, I propose, my dear (prospective) Sir William Gilbert Grace, K.G. (Knight of the Game), to head that same National Testimonial with a contribution outshining and out summing all others, to wit my
