years ago. Jan, however, was almost at home by this time; all four balls found the middle of his bat; and then the public-spirited policy of A. G. Swallow dictated an audacious move.
Of course he must know what he was doing, for he had led a first-class county in his day, and had never been the captain to take himself off without reason. No doubt he understood the value of a double change; but was it really wise to put on Swiller Wilman at Whitfield's end with lobs when only 15 runs were wanted to win the match? Pavilion critics had their oracular doubts about it; old judges on the rugs had none at all, but gave Devereux a couple of covers for the winning hit; and only Evan himself betrayed a certain apprehension as he crossed beckoning to Jan before the lobs began.
"Have you any idea how many I've got?" he asked below his breath. The second hundred had just gone up to loud applause.
"I can tell you to a run if you want to know."
"I'm asking you."
"You've made 94."
"Rot!"
"You have. You'd made 84 when I came in. I've counted your runs since then."
"I'd no idea it was nearly so many!"
"And I didn't mean to tell you."
There Jan had been quite right, but it was not so tactful to remind the batsman of every batsman's anxiety on nearing the century. Evan, to be sure, repudiated the faint suggestion with some asperity; but his very lips looked redder than before.
"Well, don't you get out off him," said Evan, consequentially.
"I'll try not to. Let's both follow the rule, eh?"
