ing very shamefaced. “The match’ll be beginning in a iffy.”
“Now, do your best, dearie,” said Margy, pleadingly, as he hurried away.
There was a great crowd around the common to see the commencement of the game, and there was much satisfaction when it became known that Hamble Green had won the choice of the first hand. A burst of applause arose as the familiar figure of Notchy, accompanied by his usual partner, came out into the field to commence the innings. The first ball was low, and fast, and hit the batsman a hard blow on the shin.
“Poor old Notchy, we’ll be having someone killed by this new-fangled overcast bowling,” grumbled Farmer Giles, who was an uncompromising opponent of the Lillywhite school.
“He should have played it off his legs,” said the maltster, who was a bit of a critic. “Fuller Pilch would have got into that and sent it spinning.”
The next ball was well up on the off-side, but again Notchy missed it.
“He generally gets ’em when he goes for a cut,” remarked the innkeeper. “That was a wild stroke.”
“He should have hit ’em both,” said the maltster. “They were both cast up too far.”
The third ball felled Notchy’s middle stump.
“Why, that were a toss,” cried Farmer Giles, scratching his head.
“Lit full on the bails,” said the maltster. “They’re offering even money, Farmer. Will you have any more on?”
The luckless batsman walked from the wickets with drooping head, while the followers of Sampley cheered wildly, and the natives of Hamble Green pulled long faces for their champion had been dismissed without a notch.
“Well, Bumper, how d’you feel now?” said Lord Jeffry, grinning with delight at his friend.
“Wait till his next hands,” replied Lord Bumper, cheerfully hiding his mortification. “He’ll get a hundred notches.”
“‘Thank ’ee, my dear,’ he cried. ‘Do it again.’”
A few moments later Lord Jeffry felt a touch upon his arm, and turning round he saw the young professional standing just behind him. They walked off together.
“Oh, that’s the man who recommended Notchy here,” said the Rector, who had strolled up, indicating Lord Jeffry.
“Yes, but he’s been backing Sampley heavily,” replied Lord Bumper.
The Rector was a shrewd man, and what he had heard made him think.
“I know something of Notchy’s private affairs,” he proceeded, “I have often been his confidant. Do you know, I should like to walk with you to his cottage, my lord.”
“What, now?”
“Yes, at once.”
Meanwhile Lord Jeffry and the young man in cricket dress were strolling down the middle of the London Road, which was now
