W. L. Lumley.
THE MAN THAT SAVED THE MATCH.
By David M'Kee Wright.
(By kind permission of the Author.)
Our church ain't reckoned very big, but then the township's small—
I've seen the time when there was seats and elbow-room for all.
The women-fold would come, of course, but working chaps was rare;
They'd rather loaf about and smoke, and take the Sunday air.
But now there's hardly standing room, and you can fairly say
There ain't a man we like as well as quiet Parson Grey.
We blokes was great for cricket once, we'd held our own so long,
In all the townships round about our team was reckoned strong;
And them that didn't use to play could barrack pretty fair,
They liked the leather-hunting that they didn't have to share.
A team from town was coming up to teach us how to play—
We meant to show what we could do upon that Christmas Day.
The stumps were pitched at two o'clock, but Lawson's face was grim
(Lawson was Captain of the team, our crack we reckoned him),
For Albert Wilson hadn't come, the safest bat of all,
With no one there to take his place he counted on a fall.
"Who could we get? There's no one here it's worth our while to play
In place of Albert." At his side was standing Parson Grey.
"I used to wield the willow once," the Parson softly said;
"If you have no one for the tail, you might take me instead."
The Captain bit his fair moustache—he seemed inclined to swear;
But answered sulkily enough, "All right, sir; I don't care.
There's no one here is worth his salt with breaking balls to play."
"I'll try and do my best for you," said quiet Parson Grey.
"His best," Bill Lawson said to me, "what's that, I'd like to know?
To spoon an easy ball to point, and walk back sad and slow,
Miss every catch that comes to him and fumble every ball,
And lose his way about the field at every 'over' call.
The blooming team can go below after this Christmas Day;
I'm hanged if I'm to captain it when parsons start to play."