Danger! and Other Stories

by Arthur Conan Doyle

  II--ABOUT CRICKET

  Supper was going on down below and all good children should have beenlong ago in the land of dreams. Yet a curious noise came from above.

  "What on earth--?" asked Daddy.

  "Laddie practising cricket," said the Lady, with the curious clairvoyanceof motherhood. "He gets out of bed to bowl. I do wish you would go upand speak seriously to him about it, for it takes quite an hour off hisrest."

  Daddy departed upon his mission intending to be gruff, and my word, hecan be quite gruff when he likes! When he reached the top of the stairs,however, and heard the noise still continue, he walked softly down thelanding and peeped in through the half-opened door.

  The room was dark save for a night-light. In the dim glimmer he saw alittle white-clad figure, slight and supple, taking short steps andswinging its arm in the middle of the room.

  "Halloa!" said Daddy.

  The white-clad figure turned and ran forward to him.

  "Oh, Daddy, how jolly of you to come up!"

  Daddy felt that gruffness was not quite so easy as it had seemed.

  "Look here! You get into bed!" he said, with the best imitation he couldmanage.

  "Yes, Daddy. But before I go, how is this?" He sprang forward and thearm swung round again in a swift and graceful gesture.

  Daddy was a moth-eaten cricketer of sorts, and he took it in with acritical eye.

  "Good, Laddie. I like a high action. That's the real Spofforth swing."

  "Oh, Daddy, come and talk about cricket!" He was pulled on the side ofthe bed, and the white figure dived between the sheets.

  "Yes; tell us about cwicket!" came a cooing voice from the corner.Dimples was sitting up in his cot.

  "You naughty boy! I thought one of you was asleep, anyhow. I mustn'tstay. I keep you awake."

  "Who was Popoff?" cried Laddie, clutching at his father's sleeve. "Washe a very good bowler?"

  "Spofforth was the best bowler that ever walked on to a cricket-field. Hewas the great Australian Bowler and he taught us a great deal."

  "Did he ever kill a dog?" from Dimples.

  "No, boy. Why?"

  "Because Laddie said there was a bowler so fast that his ball went frue acoat and killed a dog."

  "Oh, that's an old yarn. I heard that when I was a little boy about somebowler whose name, I think, was Jackson."

  "Was it a big dog?"

  "No, no, son; it wasn't a dog at all."

  "It was a cat," said Dimples.

  "No; I tell you it never happened."

  "But tell us about Spofforth," cried Laddie. Dimples, with hisimaginative mind, usually wandered, while the elder came eagerly back tothe point. "Was he very fast?"

  "He could be very fast. I have heard cricketers who had played againsthim say that his yorker--that is a ball which is just short of a fullpitch--was the fastest ball in England. I have myself seen his long armswing round and the wicket go down before ever the batsman had time toground his bat."

  "Oo!" from both beds.

  "He was a tall, thin man, and they called him the Fiend. That means theDevil, you know."

  "And _was_ he the Devil?"

  "No, Dimples, no. They called him that because he did such wonderfulthings with the ball."

  "Can the Devil do wonderful things with a ball?"

  Daddy felt that he was propagating devil-worship and hastened to get tosafer ground.

  "Spofforth taught us how to bowl and Blackham taught us how to keepwicket. When I was young we always had another fielder, called the long-stop, who stood behind the wicket-keeper. I used to be a thick, solidboy, so they put me as long-stop, and the balls used to bounce off me, Iremember, as if I had been a mattress."

  Delighted laughter.

  "But after Blackham came wicket-keepers had to learn that they were thereto stop the ball. Even in good second-class cricket there were no morelong-stops. We soon found plenty of good wicket-keeps--like AlfredLyttelton and MacGregor--but it was Blackham who showed us how. To seeSpofforth, all india-rubber and ginger, at one end bowling, and Blackham,with his black beard over the bails waiting for the ball at the otherend, was worth living for, I can tell you."

  Silence while the boys pondered over this. But Laddie feared Daddy wouldgo, so he quickly got in a question. If Daddy's memory could only bekept going there was no saying how long they might keep him.

  "Was there no good bowler until Spofforth came?"

  "Oh, plenty, my boy. But he brought something new with him. Especiallychange of pace--you could never tell by his action up to the last momentwhether you were going to get a ball like a flash of lightning, or onethat came slow but full of devil and spin. But for mere command of thepitch of a ball I should think Alfred Shaw, of Nottingham, was thegreatest bowler I can remember. It was said that he could pitch a balltwice in three times upon a half-crown!"

  "Oo!" And then from Dimples:--

  "Whose half-crown?"

  "Well, anybody's half-crown."

  "Did he get the half-crown?"

  "No, no; why should he?"

  "Because he put the ball on it."

  "The half-crown was kept there always for people to aim at," explainedLaddie.

  "No, no, there never was a half-crown."

  Murmurs of remonstrance from both boys.

  "I only meant that he could pitch the ball on anything--a half-crown oranything else."

  "Daddy," with the energy of one who has a happy idea, "could he havepitched it on the batsman's toe?"

  "Yes, boy, I think so."

  "Well, then, suppose he _always_ pitched it on the batsman's toe!"

  Daddy laughed.

  "Perhaps that is why dear old W. G. always stood with his left toe cockedup in the air."

  "On one leg?"

  "No, no, Dimples. With his heel down and his toe up."

  "Did you know W. G., Daddy?"

  "Oh, yes, I knew him quite well."

  "Was he nice?"

  "Yes, he was splendid. He was always like a great jolly schoolboy whowas hiding behind a huge black beard."

  "Whose beard?"

  "I meant that he had a great bushy beard. He looked like the piratechief in your picture-books, but he had as kind a heart as a child. Ihave been told that it was the terrible things in this war that reallykilled him. Grand old W. G.!"

  "Was he the best bat in the world, Daddy?"

  "Of course he was," said Daddy, beginning to enthuse to the delight ofthe clever little plotter in the bed. "There never was such a bat--neverin the world--and I don't believe there ever could be again. He didn'tplay on smooth wickets, as they do now. He played where the wickets wereall patchy, and you had to watch the ball right on to the bat. Youcouldn't look at it before it hit the ground and think, 'That's allright. I know where that one will be!' My word, that was cricket. Whatyou got you earned."

  "Did you ever see W. G. make a hundred, Daddy?"

  "See him! I've fielded out for him and melted on a hot August day whilehe made a hundred and fifty. There's a pound or two of your Daddysomewhere on that field yet. But I loved to see it, and I was alwayssorry when he got out for nothing, even if I were playing against him."

  "Did he ever get out for nothing?"

  "Yes, dear; the first time I ever played in his company he was given outleg-before-wicket before he made a run. And all the way to thepavilion--that's where people go when they are out--he was walkingforward, but his big black beard was backward over his shoulder as hetold the umpire what he thought."

  "And what _did_ he think?"

  "More than I can tell you, Dimples. But I dare say he was right to beannoyed, for it was a left-handed bowler, bowling round the wicket, andit is very hard to get leg-before to that. However, that's all Greek toyou."

  "What's Gweek?"

  "Well, I mean you can't understand that. Now I am going."

  "No, no, Daddy; wait a moment! Tell us about Bonner and the big catch."

  "Oh, you
know about that!"

  Two little coaxing voices came out of the darkness.

  "Oh, please! Please!"

  "I don't know what your mother will say! What was it you asked?"

  "Bonner!"

  "Ah, Bonner!" Daddy looked out in the gloom and saw green fields andgolden sunlight, and great sportsmen long gone to their rest. "Bonnerwas a wonderful man. He was a giant in size."

  "As big as you, Daddy?"

  Daddy seized his elder boy and shook him playfully. "I heard what yousaid to Miss Cregan the other day. When she asked you what an acre wasyou said 'About the size of Daddy.'"

  Both boys gurgled.

  "But Bonner was five inches taller than I. He was a giant, I tell you."

  "Did nobody kill him?"

  "No, no, Dimples. Not a story-book giant. But a great, strong man. Hehad a splendid figure and blue eyes and a golden beard, and altogether hewas the finest man I have ever seen--except perhaps one."

  "Who was the one, Daddy?"

  "Well, it was the Emperor Frederick of Germany."

  "A Jarman!" cried Dimples, in horror.

  "Yes, a German. Mind you, boys, a man may be a very noble man and be aGerman--though what has become of the noble ones these last three yearsis more than I can guess. But Frederick was noble and good, as you couldsee on his face. How he ever came to be the father of such a blasphemousbraggart"--Daddy sank into reverie.

  "Bonner, Daddy!" said Laddie, and Daddy came back from politics with astart.

  "Oh, yes, Bonner. Bonner in white flannels on the green sward with anEnglish June sun upon him. That was a picture of a man! But you askedme about the catch. It was in a test match at the Oval--England againstAustralia. Bonner said before he went in that he would hit Alfred Shawinto the next county, and he set out to do it. Shaw, as I have told you,could keep a very good length, so for some time Bonner could not get theball he wanted, but at last he saw his chance, and he jumped out and hitthat ball the most awful ker-wallop that ever was seen in acricket-field."

  "Oo!" from both boys: and then, "Did it go into the next county, Daddy?"from Dimples.

  "Well, I'm telling you!" said Daddy, who was always testy when one of hisstories was interrupted. "Bonner thought he had made the ball a half-volley--that is the best ball to hit--but Shaw had deceived him and theball was really on the short side. So when Bonner hit it, up and up itwent, until it looked as if it were going out of sight into the sky."

  "Oo!"

  "At first everybody thought it was going far outside the ground. Butsoon they saw that all the giant's strength had been wasted in hittingthe ball so high, and that there was a chance that it would fall withinthe ropes. The batsmen had run three runs and it was still in the air.Then it was seen that an English fielder was standing on the very edge ofthe field with his back on the ropes, a white figure against the blackline of the people. He stood watching the mighty curve of the ball, andtwice he raised his hands together above his head as he did so. Then athird time he raised his hands above his head, and the ball was in themand Bonner was out."

  "Why did he raise his hands twice?"

  "I don't know. He did so."

  "And who was the fielder, Daddy?"

  "The fielder was G. F. Grace, the younger brother of W. G. Only a fewmonths afterwards he was a dead man. But he had one grand moment in hislife, with twenty thousand people all just mad with excitement. Poor G.F.! He died too soon."

  "Did you ever catch a catch like that, Daddy?"

  "No, boy. I was never a particularly good fielder."

  "Did you never catch a good catch?"

  "Well, I won't say that. You see, the best catches are very oftenflukes, and I remember one awful fluke of that sort."

  "Do tell us, Daddy?"

  "Well, dear, I was fielding at slip. That is very near the wicket, youknow. Woodcock was bowling, and he had the name of being the fastestbowler of England at that time. It was just the beginning of the matchand the ball was quite red. Suddenly I saw something like a red flashand there was the ball stuck in my left hand. I had not time to move it.It simply came and stuck."

  "Oo!"

  "I saw another catch like that. It was done by Ulyett, a fine Yorkshireplayer--such a big, upstanding fellow. He was bowling, and thebatsman--it was an Australian in a test match--hit as hard as ever hecould. Ulyett could not have seen it, but he just stuck out his hand andthere was the ball."

  "Suppose it had hit his body?"

  "Well, it would have hurt him."

  "Would he have cried?" from Dimples.

  "No, boy. That is what games are for, to teach you to take a knock andnever show it. Supposing that--"

  A step was heard coming along the passage.

  "Good gracious, boys, here's Mumty. Shut your eyes this moment. It'sall right, dear. I spoke to them very severely and I think they arenearly asleep."

  "What have you been talking about?" asked the Lady.

  "Cwicket!" cried Dimples.

  "It's natural enough," said Daddy; "of course when two boys--"

  "Three," said the Lady, as she tucked up the little beds.