“How are they getting along?” hiccuped the young lord anxiously, addressing generally the company in his immediate neighbourhood.
“Notchy’s still in, sir,” grunted Farmer Giles, who was sitting just in front, completely entranced.
“He’s made about eighty notches,” added the maltster admiringly. “It’s grand.”
“It’s different to his show in the first hand,” remarked the critical innkeeper.
“It’s a swindling trick,” thundered Lord Jeffry, swearing ferociously.
And he reeled away, followed by his friends, with the intention of seeking information from the scorers.
Scarcely had he gone ten yards when the figure of a woman suddenly appeared in his path—that is to say, the gaunt figure was dressed in female garb, but the expansive grinning scarlet face was in the likeness of the incomparable Notchy Wood.
For a moment Lord Jeffry gazed in terror, and then a drunken scream came from his throat.
“Take it away,” he yelled, turning to flee.
“It’s only an ugly wench, my lord,” cried a friend, gripping his arm.
Lord Jeffry escaped from his friend’s grasp and scampered away as fast as his legs could carry him. Fifteen minutes later his carriage was whirling him along the London road.
The match between Hable Green and Sampley was brought to an early conclusion on the following day, and thanks to the batting and bowling of the real Notchy, Hamble Green secured an easy victory. No one ever discovered that one player had been substituted for the other. As it was only just that all bets should stand, the home team having been so handicapped in the first innings, Lord Bumper and the Rector kept their own counsel, being anxious, for the sake of Lord Jeffry’s family, to avoid scandal. The young nobleman paid his wagers, but henceforth he never again gave his patronage to cricket, which was no loss to the game. He had hoped to take away the simple Dicky before his identity had been discovered, and had not reckoned that his own connection with Notchy’s disappearance would be suspected. He relied upon securing Dicky’s silence by telling him that he had rendered himself liable to a long term of imprisonment through impersonating his brother.
“Well, I’m very thankful,” said Dicky, as the two brothers sat together in the cricketer’s cottage the evening after the match, “that Lord Jeffry aren’t a landlord o’ mine.”
“And there’s one thing I’m thankful for, Dicky,” replied his brother, “and that is that our Rector’s got such a cute head-piece. Else I might be sitting here in wench’s clothes yet.”
“‘Take it away,’ he yelled, turning to flee.”
