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He made good use of the over the score mounted, and the Cunjee hopes swung lower. It was still eight for 115 when a single brought his companion to face little Harry Blake, the other Cunjee bowler, who was plainly feeling the weight of his position. He sent the ball down nervously it slipped as it left his hand, and the Mulgoan stepped out to meet it, while Harry gasped with horror.

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.

Then an Irish yell from Murty O'Toole woke the echoes, even as the bowler's hand flashed up above his head and the big stockman flung up his bat in an ecstasy of delight. Billings bit off a sharp word and left his crease; and Cunjee woke to the fact that the Mulgoan captain was caught and bowled. The match was theirs by one run! When Cunjee woke it became very thoroughly awake.

He had quite waked up; his head was buzzing with "theories," and his old power seemed to have come back to his fingers. The first ball came with a beautiful leg-break, and the Mulgoan bat swiped at it wildly, and vainly. Seven for 107. Cunjee was getting excited as the eighth man came in a wiry and long youth with a stolid face.