“Really, Mr. Trouncer”
“I was awfully surprised to find him in this neighbourhood,” continued the curate vivaciously. “He made me promise to tell no one he was going to play. He says he has not touched a bat for ten years, but if he gets into form we shall have a rare old beano.”
“Mr. Trouncer,” remarked the rector severely. “I do not consider that these cricketing phrases sound at all well in the mouth of a clergyman.”
Great had been the preparations for the cricket match, and Dolly had done the thing really well. About five hundred parishioners of all ages had been invited to Cranmer Lodge, and a large refreshment marquee had been erected for their entertainment. The regimental band was in attendance, and in the evening a knife-and-fork tea was to be provided. The day’s amusement was to conclude with a display of fireworks.
The weather was perfect, and everybody except the Rev. Samuel Cassock was in the best of spirits. That unfortunate gentleman was wheeled on to the ground in a bath-chair, which, after all, was the best means he could have adopted under the circumstances of attracting attention. The grocer’s boy, being a cautious youth, took good care to keep out of his way. Dolly, however, taking pity upon him, remained by his side.
“You’ll be sorry to hear, sir,” cried the Rev. Johnny Trouncer, hurrying up to the bath-chair, and rolling up his shirt-sleeves, “that I’ve lost the toss.”
“Just what I expected,” retorted the pessimistic rector.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter who wins,” exclaimed Dolly. “As long as we give the poor people pleasure. Still, that naughty uncle of mine shouldn’t have got such a strong side.”
“We’d have a chance,” replied the Rev. John, “but Hurdles hasn’t turned up.”
“Who is Hurdles?" inquired Dolly, with evident curiosity.
“Why, ten years ago he was the best all-round man in England,” began the curate with a burst. “W. G. himself”
“I’m tired of hearing about that man,” said the dismal Mr. Cassock rudely. “But I should like to see him.”
At that moment the umpires strolled into the field, and the curate hurried away.
The two Oxford men commenced the innings for Dolly’s side, and began in rare style. Johnny Trouncer kept a good length, and they were not able to score much off him, bat he could not bowl at both ends. It was soon evident that the wicket did not suit the grocer’s boy, or else nervousness prevented him from doing himself justice, for his bowling was slogged most unmercifully. Then the schoolmaster tried his hand, but sixes and fours still came in great numbers. In half-an-hour the score had reached fifty; at the end of the first hour the century was hoisted, and not a wicket had yet fallen.
“Ah! this must be Mr. Trouncer’s mysterious player,” remarked Dolly, who was sitting by the side of the bath-chair, as a tall, lithe figure came running from the pavilion. “This, I suppose, is Mr. Hurdles. I half expected he would come masked like ‘the Japs.’”
“It is impossible to see his face at this distance,” said Mr. Cassock. “But I don’t think I know him.”
The curate was seen to welcome the newcomer effusively, and at once put him on to bowl. He had an easy, natural action, and delivered the ball from a good height. His first two overs yielded ten runs, and then he found his length. After beating the Oxford captain with two successive deliveries he knocked his off stick out of the ground, and bowled the county crack middle stump with the next ball. The remainder of the innings was a mere procession of batsmen. The military men were hopelessly at sea with the bowling of Mr. Hurdles, and the Oxford captain’s brother played on in the first over he received from him. His share of the spoil was seven wickets for twenty-four runs, and the final score reached a hundred and fifty exactly. The Rev. John Trouncer, who bowled unchanged, captured the three remaining batsmen.
“Well, sir, what do you think of my man?” he exclaimed, with a broad grin, as he strolled up to the bath-chair.
“He has surpassed my expectations, I confess,” replied Mr. Cassock pompously. “But the match is nothing. It is a thing apart. My object, and Miss Temple’s, is to brighten the lives and arouse the interest of the parishioners.”
“Oh, do bring Mr. Hurdles and introduce him to me,” cried Dolly.
“My dear Miss Temple, I will as soon as out, but he’s just going in to bat now,” answered the curate.
A few moments later the redoubtable Hurdles, bat in hand, strolled out into the field together with the schoolmaster. He had handsome, clear-cut features, tanned by the sun, and now flushed with recent exercise. The bath-chair group, being some distance from the pavilion, did not have as good a view of him as they would have liked.
“Now perhaps we shall see some fun,” remarked the Rev. John. “He’s been practising every day for the last fortnight.”
