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He crossed the bowler's arm just before the ball pitched. Mike lost sight of it for a fraction of a second, and hit wildly. The next moment his leg stump was askew; and the Hall had lost the match. 'I'm sorry, he said to Mr Smith. 'Some silly idiot walked across the screen just as the ball was bowled. 'What! shouted Mr Smith.

The wicket-keeper, also, gave Penny much trouble; and sulked because he had been forbidden to stop the swift bowler's deliveries by holding a coat in front of him and allowing the ball to become entangled in its folds. My fellow-umpire had occasion to speak very seriously to him. "Really," he said, "you're a stench in my nostrils. Mr.

He came to the gate and tried to force an entrance, but hurriedly withdrew when he met Sergeant Bowler's gleaming bayonet and saw the gunners standing by with lighted matches in their hands. By and by he sent a messenger asking Mr. Watts to come out and parley. and offering a betel, the usual native pledge of safe conduct. Against the advice of Lieutenant Elliott, Mr.

For Bowler's party there seemed very little prospect of anything turning up, for their way lay across bare ledges of rock, with perhaps a pool to wade, or a little cape to scramble across, but never a sign of food or shelter. Braintree did indeed announce that in one place he saw a "cwab" disappear into a hole, but the chances of satisfaction from that source were too remote to be pursued.

He sent down a treacherous ball, and Murty met it and played it boldly for two, amid Mulgoan shrieks. Two to tie and three to win no, one fewer now, for the Irishman had turned a swift ball to leg, and only quick fielding had prevented a boundary. A hundred and seventeen! Murty heaved a sigh of relief as he leaned on his bat at the bowler's end and glanced across at Jim.

"Play!" cried the umpire, and amid dead silence the ball shot from the bowler's hand. Next moment there rose a shout loud enough to deafen all Saint Dominic's. The ball was flying fifty feet up in the air, and Raleigh was slowly walking, bat in hand, back to the tent he had only a moment ago quitted! The captain had been clean bowled, first ball!

But the next ball was more lucky; Winter hit it, indeed, but he hit it up, sky-high, over the bowler's head, and before it reached the ground Bullinger was safe underneath it. It was with a sigh of relief that the Fifth saw this awkward partnership broken up. The score was at forty-eight for three wickets; quite enough too! After this the innings progressed more evenly.

Never had Bowler's harness received such a polish, every buckle shone like burnished gold. Ebben Owens had brushed his greatcoat a dozen times, and laid it on the parlour table in readiness, and had drawn his sleeve every day over the chimney-pot hat which he had bought for the occasion.

Cricket is a capital game: it looks well to see light, active figures chasing the ball when the batsman has thrown all his power into the leg hit, and sent the ball bounding and skimming far away beyond the farther fielder; then backwards and forwards run the men at the wickets, while the onlookers cheer and shout at the bowler's prowess, as he stops the thrown-up ball, and hurls it at the wicket-keeper, who, with apparently one motion for catching and knocking off the bailes, puts the hard hitter out.

In my opinion, therefore, the bowler's lot, in spite of billiard table wickets, red marl, and such like inventions of a degenerate age, is the happier one. And here, glowing with pride of originality at the thought that I have written of cricket without mentioning Alfred Mynn or Fuller Pilch, I heave a reminiscent sigh, blot my MS., and thrust my pen back into its sheath.