He had not realized that the three people he was approaching were not Chinese. Excited by observing what unmistakably was a wicket, crude though it might be, he thought he had stumbled upon some prototype of his own national game being played by the aborigines of the mountains.
"Perhaps it's been played since the days of Yao and Shun," he told his companion; "nothing ever changes in China. Some dear old lady may find a new proof that we're all descended from the Ten Lost Tribes. I certainly mustn't miss this picture. Think how well it would look in 'Leaves from an Archaeologist's Notebook' or, at the worst, 'A Nomad W.G. Scores a Boundary.'"
"Well, he's not a nomad nor a W.G. and I'm not sure he's even playing cricket," said the other; "but don't let small scruples interfere with your picture."
"I won't," said the first, who was considering how he might approach the game unobserved till Edward, catching a cone in mid-flight and thwacking it back into the ravine, provoked his shout of "Well hit, sir." Nothing was left except to walk forward openly in the hope that the three strangely assorted players might prove amenable to his wish. So he shouted emphatically in the direction of Herrick's portly figure, trying to check visible symptoms of retreat. "Just a minute, wanchee take picture, wanchee take picture, one minute can do."
"Oh, do you?" inquired Herrick with the dryest of accents. "And to whom am I indebted for your acquaintance?"
The man stopped abruptly, while Herrick used the chance to muster off his children. Without further words he went coldly by, as though he were passing two strangers in the crowds of Regent Street, and the two children, excited by this encounter, were too much afraid of their father to give the men another glance.
"Well, what do you make of that?" asked the astonished intruder of his companion.
"You were right in one point, at least," said the latter, "it was cricket. But I don't think the knowledge is going to help any dear old lady's theory of the Lost Tribes. That was certainly a stony British stare."
"And a stony British retort. What on earth do you suppose he was doing here masquerading in Chinese clothes? And the girl and boy too? They must have been English; they weren't Chinese. An uncommonly handsome girl at that. If I hadn't been paralyzed by the old gentleman's answer, I should have taken a picture to prove we weren't dreaming. They might at least have stopped, and not run away in this barbarous fashion."
"Yes, but what an uncommon pair of fools we must have seemed, shouting pidgin English at them! No wonder they were crusty."