The various preliminaries differed somewhat from those usually in evidence on the cricket field, but the 3,000 spectators enjoyed them so much that it might be advisable for the county clubs to follow suit and ensure a big gate.
Punctually at the appointed time the two elevens emerged from their tents and showed themselves to the expectant crowd. The Dulwich XI. were conventionally clad in white flannels and club caps. Not so the Danites. As they marched in single file from their tent, a great silence came over the multitude. They were stricken with an astonishment too deep for words. Where was the idol of the hour? There was no Dan Leno apparent among those grotesquely-clad creatures.
The little man in the van of the procession, with the tall silk cricketing hat of a bygone age, loose holland bags falling like anæmic concertinas over his shoes, the striped wool blouse with puffed sleeves and the huge black beard and side whiskers. Surely that was not he. The crowd looked hard. As they did so the little man's features relaxed into an elastic smile, so elastic that none could mistake it. Then they cried, "Why, it's Dan," and sat down and cheered till they ached. One by one the other members of this strange eleven were identified through their disguises, and the fun began.
The team marched in comic single file round the field at quick time. Every few steps Capt. W.G. Daniel Leno stopped to bow his acknowledgments, and as he did so the remaining ten ran forcibly into each other's backs and rolled heavily over each other on the grass from the force of impact. Wigs, false moustaches, and other stage impedimenta dropped in the mêlée, and the spectators stood up on end and swayed with laughter.
At the wicket Dr. W. G. D. Leno met the opponent captain. There was a sporting handshake, and the former skied the fateful coin. The crowd wanted the Eccentrics to win the toss. But there was little enough cause for anxiety. Dan Leno had a double-headed coin, and he called to it himself, which conclusively settled the matter. He elected to go in first.
Rightly or wrongly, he was of opinion that the ordinary entry of the opening side was a tame sort of affair. Dan Leno has something of the old Roman in him. He likes a state entry and the plaudits of the populace. He and his team once more processed off the field to a distant corner where a dozen chargers brayed in melancholy inactivity. Here all were mounted satisfactorily but the fat man, whom it took half-a-dozen men to hoist in the saddle. Then to the music of a thousand throats the team flew round the ground and charged on to the wicket.
Never was entry so triumphal. The splendidly-trained chargers swished their tails majestically, and brayed in lieu of trumpets. Then, without so much as a command, they planted their fore feet firmly on the green sward, dropped their riders over their heads, and departed from whence they came.
Dan Leno and T. MacNaughton took their places at the wicket; the remaining Danites, contrary to custom, squatted about the field, and the match began.
The first ball hit the middle stump on the top and downed the wickets like ninepins. "How's that?" called the Dulwich team. "Out," said the umpire.
Dan Leno was more than surprised, he was disgusted and hurt. "Out? What do you mean?" he said, with a glance of contemptuous pity at the umpire. He called a couple of his team to assist him in his protest against such a palpable piece of jobbery on the part of the opposition team.