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"Well, I shall be very sorry to leave you, Ann, but I'm glad I'm pulling out of here this evening. Who are all these people?" Ann surveyed the gathering. "That's Ernest Wisden, the playwright, over there, talking to Lora Delane Porter, the feminist writer. That's Clara What's-her-name, the sculptor, with the bobbed hair. Next to her " Mr. Chester cut short the catalogue with a stifled yawn.

Barnes appeared, on his face the look of one who has seen visions. "I say," he said, "is it true? Or is Stone rotting? About Wrykyn, I mean." "Yes, I was in the team." Barnes was an enthusiastic cricketer. He studied his Wisden, and he had an immense respect for Wrykyn cricket. "Are you the M. Jackson, then, who had an average of fifty-one point nought three last year?" "Yes."

I use either a "Quo Vadis," which is splendid for going out of bounds, or an "Ostrich," which has a wonderful way of burying itself in the sand. I followed him to the green at my leisure. "Five," said Henry. "Seven," said I; "and if I take three bisques it's my hole." "You must only take one at a time," protested Henry. "Why? There's nothing in Wisden or Baedeker about it.

Barnes appeared, on his face the look of one who has seen visions. "I say," he said, "is it true? Or is Stone rotting? About Wrykyn, I mean." "Yes, I was in the team." Barnes was an enthusiastic cricketer. He studied his Wisden, and he had an immense respect for Wrykyn cricket. "Are you the M. Jackson, then, who had an average of fifty-one point naught three last year?" "Yes."

One or two of them he knew by repute from the pages of Wisden. Bannister, his cheerful predecessor in the Postage Department, was the Bannister, he recollected now, who had played for Geddington against Wrykyn in his second year in the Wrykyn team. Munroe, the big man in the Fixed Deposits, he remembered as leader of the Ripton pack.

The swift and sudden boot. I shall be sorry to part with you, but I'm afraid it's a case of 'Au revoir, my little Hyacinth. We shall meet at Philippi. This is my Moscow. To-morrow I shall go out into the night with one long, choking sob. Years hence a white-haired bank-clerk will tap at your door when you're a prosperous professional cricketer with your photograph in Wisden. That'll be me.

As for his bowling, he bowled left hand always a puzzling eccentricity to an undeveloped batsman and could send them down very fast or very slow, as he thought best, and it was hard to see which particular brand he was going to serve up before it was actually in mid-air. But it is not necessary to enlarge on his abilities. The figures against his name in Wisden prove a good deal.