Pip : A Romance of Youth

by Ian Hay

  CHAPTER IV

  PIP FINDS HIS VOCATION

  MR. HANBURY made no comment, but requested Pip to bowl again. "A goodfast one," he said.

  Pip, with the most natural air in the world, obeyed orders. This time hebowled a yorker, somewhere in the direction of the off-stump. Mr.Hanbury did not trouble to play it, but chopped his bat down into theblock-hole to stop it. The ball, however, chiefly owing to the fact thatit curled some inches in the air, missed his bat and bowled him off hispads.

  "One more," said Ham.

  Pip, divided between elation at bowling a master and apprehension as tothe consequences thereof, delivered his fourth ball--a full pitch to theoff this time. Bad ball as it was, the curl in the air was mostapparent; but Ham, who took the measure of most bowling after the thirdball, stepped across, and, playing apparently about three inches insideit, caught it fairly and sent it flying.

  "That will do, thanks," he said. "Now, run off to tea, but drop into mystudy after prayers for a minute."

  Pip made his appearance very promptly after prayers.

  Mr. Hanbury, who was smoking and correcting exercises, nodded to achair, and after a few minutes' silence, broken by sundry grunts and thethud of a merciless blue pencil, put down his work and addressed Pip.

  "Now, my man, I want to have a word with you. You are what is known as anatural bowler. Why you didn't find it out for yourself I can't think.Didn't you, in your extreme infancy, often feel an inclination to stiryour porridge with your left hand?"

  Pip reflected; and sundry nursery incidents, of no previous import,suddenly acquired a new significance in his mind.

  "Yes, sir," he said, "I did. But my nur--my people used to tell me notto, and I got out of the way of it, I suppose."

  "They always do it," said Ham sympathetically. "Now, listen. A man maybe the fastest and straightest bowler in the world, but unless he has_pitch_ he has nothing, nothing, nothing! A straight ball is no good ifit is a long hop or a full pitch, and the only way to acquire the art isto practise and practise and practise until you can drop the ball on athreepenny-bit at twenty yards. Now, if I take you for half an hour at anet after tea for the next few weeks, will you agree to do somethingfor me in return?"

  Pip agreed, without asking what the conditions might be.

  "What I want you to do," said Ham, "is this." He led the way to thebookshelves at the side of the room. "I want you to read some books forme. Any books will do, but you must read _something_. I should adviseyou to begin on something easy. Here are three. This one is called'Treasure Island'; this big one is 'The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes';and the yellow one is 'Vice Versa.' (Don't be afraid: it's all Englishinside.) Which will you have?"

  Pip was somewhat dazed by this eccentric man's behaviour, but he hadsufficient sense left to choose the smallest of the proffered volumes.Then he said timidly,--

  "Would I have any chance of getting into the Junior House Eleven, sir?"

  "M' well, perhaps. Now, hook it. After tea to-morrow at my net, mind."

  Later in the evening Mr. Hanbury, enjoying the hospitality of UncleBill, remarked,--

  "I'm sorry the St. Dunstan's match is over for this year."

  "Why?" inquired his host.

  "Because we could have beaten them. Anyhow, we shall do it next year."

  "Why this confidence?"

  "Because," said Hanbury, "I propose this day month to introduce to theschool the finest bowler that it has seen since old Hewett's time."

  Pip stuck to his side of the bargain manfully. He religiously wadedthrough "Treasure Island," marking with a pencil the place when heknocked off work for the day. The fascination of the story affected evenhis barbaric mind, but the effort of taking it all in more thanoutweighed the pleasure. "Sherlock Holmes" he voted dull; he made noconjectures as to the solution of each mystery, and consequently thepleasure of anticipating the result was lost to him. "Vice Versa"pleased him most, though the idea of a girl running at large in a boys'school struck his celibate mind as "utter rot."

  But in return for all this aimless drudgery he had the unspeakable joyof bowling to Ham every night for a short time after tea, at a quiet netin a corner of the big field. The term was not nearly half over, andalready he could bring the ball down with tolerable certainty somewherenear a postcard laid for him upon the pitch, five times out ofseven,--and that, too, without in any way spoiling the curl in the airby which his teacher appeared to set so much store. He was alsopermitted to bowl one fast ball per over, an indulgence which comfortedhim mightily; for like every other cricketer who ever lived, heimagined that he was a heaven-sent fast bowler.

  To his unutterable disappointment he was not chosen for his Junior HouseEleven, though it included such confirmed dotards as Mumford. The truthwas that Mr. Hanbury had sent for Marsh, the captain of Pip's house, andasked as a personal favour that Pip might not be put in the team.

  "I know these Junior House-Matches," he said. "The boy will either notbe put on to bowl at all, or else he will be kept on for forty or fiftyovers, tiring himself out and undoing all the work of the past fiveweeks. Leave him with me for another fortnight, and we'll see. I can'thave growing plants strained in any way."

  "Is he really good, sir?" said Marsh. "I haven't seen him play for along time, and then he seemed no better than most of the other kids."

  "That was when he was bowling right-handed," said Ham. "Come and see himto-morrow, at my net. Look here, I will make a bargain with you. When isthe House-Match proper, the Final, the big affair, between you and theHittites?"

  "A fortnight on Tuesday, sir."

  "Well, you may play him in that match, on the understanding that he isnot to bowl for more than five overs at a time. I'll have him in goodorder for you, but he mustn't be overworked."

  Marsh, after a glance at Pip's form at Ham's net next day, readilyagreed to the proposition.

  A week later Pip was informed by Mumford, during the French hour, of acurious clerical error in the list containing the names of the HiviteHouse Eleven, which had been put up that morning. Marsh, it appeared, ina fit of laughable absent-mindedness, had filled the last place in thelist with the name of Pip, instead of that of one Elliot, who hadoccupied that position in the previous round.

  "Rum mistake to make," said Mumford, with obvious sincerity.

  "Very," said Pip shortly.

  "Rather a jest," continued the imaginative Mumford, "if he didn't noticeit, and you turned out on the day with the rest of the Eleven instead ofElliott!"

  "Jolly comic!" said Pip, without enthusiasm. He was a modest youth, but,like other and older men, he derived no pleasure from hearing his lowopinion of himself so heartily endorsed by his friends.

  However, his name remained on the list, and on the great day he did turnout with the Eleven, going in last and being bowled first ball, much tothe gratification of Mr. Elliott.

  The Hivites made a hundred and seventy-eight,--not a bad score, ashouse-matches go. Then the Hittites took the field. They sent in ared-headed youth named Evans, and a long, lean individual who rejoicedin the thoroughly incongruous nickname of "Tiny." He played with anappallingly straight bat, but seldom took liberties with the bowling.

  The opening of the innings was not eventful. House-matches are very muchalike as a class. Everybody knows everybody else's game to a nicety, andthe result is usually a question of nerves. Tiny and Evans pokedsystematically and exasperatingly at every ball sent down; the clumps ofdark-blue Hittites and pink Hivites round the field subsided intorecumbent apathy; and Pip, who was fielding at short slip, began to feelthat if house-matches were all as dull as this one he might get throughwithout further disgracing himself.

  But Marsh, the bowler, was also a cricketer. He saw that Evans, who wasnot naturally a defensive player, was getting very tired of poking toorder, and resolved to tempt him. He accordingly sent down one of theworst balls ever seen on the school pitch. Evans wavered for a moment,but, remembering h
is orders, let it go by. It was followed by another,exactly like it: once again Evans restrained his itching bat. But thethird was too much for him, and he smote it incontinently over theropes, to the huge delight of the Hittites.

  "Now he's got his eye in!" remarked Master Simpson of the Hittites toMaster Mumford, who was sitting beside him on the railings.

  "Rot!" replied that youth, as in duty bound, but without conviction."Any ass could see that Marsh gave him that ball on purpose."

  "On purpose? What for?" inquired Simpson doubtfully.

  "What a question to ask!" replied Mumford, casting about for an answer."Of course you don't know enough about the game, but the reason whyMarsh bowled that particular ball was--Hooray! Hoor-a-a-ay-ee-ah-ooh!Well held, sir! What did I say, young Simpson?"

  For Evans, throwing caution to the winds, had lashed out at a good ball,the last of Marsh's over, and it was now reposing safely in the hands ofMid-off.

  Another disaster befell the Hittites a few minutes later. Tiny, who hadbeen stepping out and playing forward with the irritating accuracy of anautomaton, played just inside a ball from the Hivite fast bowler,Martin. The ball glanced off his bat, and almost at the same moment Pipbecame conscious of a violent pain, suggestive of red-hot iron, in hisright arm-pit. He clapped his hand to the part affected, and to hisastonishment drew forth the ball, to a storm of applause from thedelighted Hivites, while Tiny retired, speechless and scarlet, to thePavilion.

  But trouble was in store for the Hivites. The two new batsmen were theopposing captain, one Hewett, a smiter of uncompromising severity, and asomewhat amorphous and pimply youth, destitute of nerves, who wascommonly addressed as "Scrabbler." These twain treated the firm of Marshand Martin with a disrespect that amounted almost to discourtesy. Thescore rose from forty-five to a hundred, and from a hundred to a hundredand thirty-five, notwithstanding the substitution of two fresh bowlersof established reputation and fair merit. The Hivites began to lookunhappy. Their fielding, which hitherto had been well up to the mark,now deteriorated; and when the Scrabbler was missed at the wicket from asnick that was heard all over the ground, Master Simpson became sooffensive that Mumford found it necessary to withdraw out of earshot.

  At this point Marsh, having obeyed the law which says that when yourfirst-eleven colour-men have failed, you must try your second-elevencolour-men; and when you have done that, you may begin to speculate onoutsiders, decided to put Pip on. He accordingly tossed him the ball atthe beginning of the next over.

  Pip had been living for this moment ever since his name had appeared inthe list, and he had carefully rehearsed all the movements necessary tothe occasion. He would pick up the ball negligently, hand his cap to theumpire, and place his field with a few comprehensive motions of his arm.He would then toss down a few practice balls to the wicket-keeper, and,after a final glance round the field, proceed to bring the Hittiteinnings to an inglorious conclusion.

  But, alas! whether it was from insufficient rehearsal, or blue funk,Pip's performance was a dreadful failure. He forgot to hand his cap tothe umpire; he made no attempt to place his field; and so far was hefrom casting cool glances around him before commencing his onslaughtthat he was only prevented, by the heavy hand of the adjacent Scrabbler,from beginning to bowl before the fielders had crossed over.

  And when he did begin, the ball which was to have made a crumbling ruinof Hewett's wicket proved to be a fast full-pitch to leg; the secondball was a long-hop to the off; and the third, which had originally beenintended to complete Pip's hat-trick, nearly annihilated the gentlemanwho was fielding point. Marsh was very patient, and made no comment asball after ball was despatched to the boundary. He would have liked togive the boy time to find his feet, but this sort of thing was tooexpensive. After two inglorious overs Pip retired once more to secondslip, with his inscrutable countenance as inscrutable as ever, but hisheart almost bursting beneath his white shirt, with shame andhumiliation and a downright grief. It was the first tragedy of his life.

  But he had his revenge a moment later. The Scrabbler, with a pretty latecut, despatched a fast ball from Martin straight to Pip. Pipautomatically clapped his heels together and ducked down to the ball,but just a moment too late. He felt the ball glance off each instep andpass behind him. The Scrabbler's partner, seeing that Pip had notstopped the ball, called to him to come; then, seeing that the ball hadonly rolled a few yards, called to him to go back. But Pip by this timehad reached the ball. The Scrabbler made a frantic leap back intosafety. Pip's long arm shot out, and as the batsman hung for a momentbetween heaven and earth in his passage back to the crease, he sawwickets and bails disintegrate themselves in wild confusion in responseto a thunderbolt despatched from Pip's left hand at a range of sixyards.

  The partnership was over at last, and the Hittites offered little moreresistance. They were all out in another half hour, for a total of twohundred and fifteen,--a score long enough to cause the Hivites to confergloomily among themselves and ignore the unseemly joy of the Hittites.So play ended for the day.

  The match was to be resumed on the following Thursday, two days later.On Wednesday evening Ham sat smoking in his room. He was expecting Pip,who generally chose that time for returning works of fiction. On thisoccasion Pip was rather long in coming, and when he did come he was notthe usual Pip. He had not encountered his form-master in private sincethe house-match, and was uncertain of his reception. Only the strictestsense of duty brought his faltering feet to Mr. Hanbury's door, and itwas with downcast eye and muffled voice that he proffered "HandleyCross" in exchange for "The Jungle Book."

  Ham knew his man, and discreetly avoided cricketing topics for the firstfive minutes. He talked of Mr. Jorrocks, of Mowgli, of the weather--ofanything, in fact, rather than half-volleys and full-pitches. It wasPip, with his usual directness, who opened the subject.

  "Do you think it will keep fine, sir?"

  "Sweltering hot, I expect."

  There was an awkward pause. Then Pip said--

  "I'm--I'm awfully sorry, sir."

  Hanbury understood, and he glowed inwardly to think that the firstfeeling of this small boy, whose very soul was wrung by the knowledgethat he had received his first chance in life and thrown it away, shouldbe one of regret for having disappointed his teacher rather than one ofcommiseration for himself. Mr. Hanbury was still young and very human,and he felt glad that he had read Pip aright, and not pinned his faithto the wrong sort of boy.

  "My dear man," he said, "you did exactly what I expected you to do--nomore and no less. You bowled erratically and fielded splendidly." (Theidea that he had fielded well had never occurred to Pip.) "I was sorryabout the bowling, but I knew you must go through the experience. Thebest bowler in the world never remembered to bowl with his head hisfirst match. He just did what you did--shut his eyes and plugged them inas hard as he could."

  Pip nodded. That was exactly what he had done.

  "That's what I meant when I told you the other day that your educationwas not half completed. I meant that you might be able to knock over astump at a net all day and yet not be able to keep your head before acrowd. You will do well now you have found your feet. You fielded likea man yesterday, and you'll bowl like a demon to-morrow. I expect greatthings of you, so keep your tail up, young man, and--By Jove, I promisedto see Mr. Mortimer before nine! Excuse me a moment."

  Ham bolted from the room.

  For Pip, the imperturbable, the impenetrable, was--_horrescoreferens_--in tears! After all, he was barely fifteen, and he hadendured a good deal already--the quiet disappointment of Marsh, thethinly veiled scorn of the deposed Elliott, and the half-amused contemptof the rest of the house. He had taken them all in his usual impassiveway, and the critics who gathered in knots after the game and condemnedMarsh for putting "an absolute kid" into the House Eleven, neversuspected that the "kid" in question was struggling, beneath anindifferent exterior, between an intense desire for sympathy and astubborn determination not to show it. And so these words from hisbeloved
Ham, from whom he had expected at the best disappointed silence,brought to his overwrought soul that relief which he so badly needed;and a large tear, trickling down his nose, warned Mr. Hanbury toremember a pressing engagement elsewhere.

  Pip soon recovered.

  "Lucky Ham had to go out then," he soliloquised, "or he'd have seen meblub."

  Ham returned after a discreet interval, and after a few words of wisdomand encouragement dismissed Pip to bed in a greatly improved frame ofmind.

  * * * * *

  The Hivites began their second innings thirty-seven runs to the bad.This fact had impressed itself upon the mind of Marsh, the captain, andhe decided, in his vigorous way, that if anything was to be done he mustdo it himself. He accordingly went in first, accompanied by a confirmed"stone-waller," and proceeded to break the hearts of the Hittitebowlers. Nothing could shake the steadiness of the two players. The mostbeautiful balls were sent down to them--balls which pitched halfway andwavered alluringly, waiting to be despatched to square-leg,half-volleys, full-pitches, wides; but nothing would tempt them to takeliberties. Marsh played sound cricket, and made runs; but his companionplayed a purely defensive game, his performance being accentuated by aseries of sharp knocks, or dull thuds, according as he played the ballwith his bat or his body. The arrears had been exactly wiped off whenthis hero, in endeavouring to interpose as much of his adamantine personas possible between his wicket and a leg-break, lurched heavilybackwards and mowed down all three stumps. He retired amid applause.

  But the Hivites were not out of the wood. The next two batsmen succumbedrather unluckily, the one leg-before, the other caught at thewicket,--the two ways in which no batsman is ever really out,--and a rotset in. Marsh, it was true, was playing the innings of his life. Allbowling seemed to come alike to him, and he usually contrived to score asingle at the end of the over and so prolonged the lives of his variousfluttered partners. But he could not do everything, and when Pip came inlast, the score was only a hundred and five, of which Marsh had madeseventy.

  Pip's previous performance had not been such as to justify any unboundedconfidence in his supporters; but he certainly shaped better this time.He had a good eye, and by resolutely placing his bat in the path of theapproaching ball he achieved the twofold result of keeping up his wicketand goading the bowlers to impotent frenzy. Once he survived a wholemaiden over, though he was bombarded with long hops, tempted with slows,and intimidated with full-pitches directed at his head. He stoodperfectly still; the ball rebounded from his tough young person againand again; and now and then, when the angle of incidence and the angleof reflection were very obtuse indeed, he and Marsh ran a leg-bye. Thescore crept up, Marsh began to get near his century, and the Hivitesagain plucked up heart.

  After batting for nearly a quarter of an hour, Pip, much to his ownsurprise, scored a run--four, to be precise--due to an entirelyinadvertent snick to the off boundary. This brought the score up to ahundred and thirty. Directly afterwards Marsh completed his hundred,with a mighty drive over the ropes, and "e'en the ranks of Tuscany," asUncle Bill observed, "could scarce forbear to cheer."

  After that Marsh, feeling uncertain as to how long his companionintended to stay, determined to make hay while the sun shone.Accordingly he began to hit. Four fours in one over brought on a slowbowler, who had to be taken off again as soon as possible; for even Pipdespised him, and pulled one of his off-balls to square-leg for three.But this state of affairs was too good to last. Marsh, who had beensmiting all and sundry since completing his hundred, ran out to a slowball from the Hittite captain and missed it. The wicket-keeper whippedoff the bails in a flash, and the innings was over. The full score was ahundred and fifty-seven, of which Marsh had made a hundred andseventeen. Pip scored seven, not out.

  Verily, this was a match. The Hittites only wanted a hundred and twentyto win; but a hundred and twenty is a big figure to compile out of thefourth innings of a house-match, when nerves are snapping likefiddle-strings. However, it was generally considered that the Hittiteswould win by about five wickets, and Master Simpson, by wagering aningenious musical instrument, composed mainly of half a walnut-shell anda wooden match (invaluable for irritating nervous masters), against twofives-balls and a moribund white mouse belonging to Mumford, in supportof his own house, had just brought himself within the sphere ofoperations of the Anti-Gambling League, when the Hivites went out to thefield for the last time.

  Marsh had found an opportunity for a hurried consultation with Mr.Hanbury.

  "It's no use your going on to bowl at present," said his adviser. "Youcan't knock up a hundred and expect to take wickets directlyafterwards."

  "Whom shall I begin with, sir? I thought of Martin and Watkins."

  "Watkins is a broken reed, but he'll last for three overs. Take him offsoon, and if you are not ready yourself, give our young friend Pipanother trial."

  Marsh cocked a respectful but surprised eye at his master.

  Hanbury saw the look. "You'll find him a very different performer now,"he said. "That little bit of batting will have steadied him nicely. Butdon't keep him on too long, even though he takes wickets. Give him arest after five overs, and put him on again later. Make him place hisown field: the experience will be useful to him."

  Things turned out pretty well as Mr. Hanbury had prophesied. Martin, asteady performer, kept the runs down at his end; and Watkins, the brokenreed, bowled exactly three good overs, in the second of which he removedthe Hittite captain's leg-bail with a ball which, as Uncle Billobserved, "would have beaten the Old Man himself." After that he fellaway, and having been hit three times for four in his fourth over, wastaken off.

  Marsh was still feeling the effects of his innings, and decided to takeanother ten minutes' rest. He accordingly electrified players andspectators alike by tossing the ball to Pip.

  "We shall win by nine wickets now," said Master Simpson withdecision--"not five."

  "My dear ass," replied Mumford, "he's only put Pip on for an over to letMartin change ends."

  "Well, if he bowls as he did last innings Martin won't get the chance,'cause Pip will give us all the runs we want in one over. Let's see: sixsixes are thirty-six, say ten wides, and--all right, lousy swine!"

  This last remark was delivered from a nettle-bed behind the railings,and its warmth was due to the fact that the speaker had been neatlytilted backwards by a well-directed jog from the incensed Mr. Mumford'selbow.

  But Pip had no intention of giving away runs this time. He was proud ofthe confidence in him that had been shown; he was burning to retrievethe disgrace of his last performance; and, best of all, his gloriousspell of batting had soothed his nerves and accustomed him to publicappearances. He arranged his field quietly, sent a couple of balls downto the wicket-keeper, and even remembered to hand his cap to the umpire.

  There was a hush all around the ground as he ran up to the wicket todeliver his first ball.

  Things were certainly in a critical state. Of the hundred and twentyruns required to win, the Hittites had obtained forty-five for the lossof one wicket. If the present pair could add another thirty before beingseparated the match was practically safe. It was felt that Marsh wasplaying a desperate game in risking everything on the efforts of such atyro as Pip; and when the Scrabbler took his stand and prepared topunish his presumptuous folly, the Hittites made ready to shout, and theHivites to decamp to their house.

  Pip's head was quite clear this time. His first two balls were to be asstraight as possible and a good length; the third, if possible, was tobe a fast yorker; the fourth, a good length ball; the fifth, slow andcurly; and the last, Ham had told him, could be anything he pleased.

  He delivered his first ball as per programme. The Scrabbler stepped wellout to it, calculating, with his long reach, to be able to smother itcomfortably. Much to his surprise his bat met with no resistance, for hehad planted it quite two inches outside. The ball passed between his batand his legs, whizzed past the leg stump, and was in the
wicket-keeper'shands in a moment. The bails were whipped off, and the Scrabbler, whohad dragged his foot right over the crease in his tremendous lungeforward, was out, stumped as neatly as possible.

  A mighty shout went up as the Scrabbler retired. Two for forty-five.

  Another batsman took his place. Pip delivered a ball almost identicalwith the first. This time the batsman, a stumpy person, not possessed ofthe Scrabbler's reach, played back, and succeeded in returning the ballto the bowler. Pleased with this success, and desiring to repeat it, hemade the fatal mistake of deciding on his next stroke before the ballwas bowled. Consequently he played back to a fast yorker, which, youwill remember, came third on Pip's schedule. When he turned round hismiddle stump was lying on the ground, and the wicket-keeper was gropingecstatically for the bails.

  Three for forty-five.

  The next man was the heavy hitter of the eleven. It was his custom tosmite every ball sent down, including the first, with uncompromisingseverity. On this occasion, however, he was sufficiently impressed withthe solemnity of the occasion to endeavour to block the first ball,which was Pip's fourth,--a straight, good-length, orthodox delivery,rather on the short side. The ball rebounded from his rigid bat, andPoint just failed to reach it. A little shudder ran round the ground.The slogger, observing his escape, came to the conclusion that he mightas well be outed for a slogger as a poker, and lashed out widely at ballnumber five, which was a slow and curly one. Now, since Pip, who feltthe real bowling instinct, which tells a man what the batsman expects(and prompts him to bowl something entirely different), surging uphotter and stronger in his brain every moment, bowled when still a goodtwo yards behind the crease, the lash-out came much too soon, and theslogger's bat was waving wildly in the air what time his bails werebeing disturbed by a beautiful curly ball which bumped, very verygently, into his off-stump.

  Four for forty-five.

  There was no mistaking the shout that arose now. Previous vocal effortshad merely expressed pleased surprise at a good piece of bowling, andhad voiced the gratifying fact that the Hivites, though about to bebeaten, would not be disgraced; but the tornado which now rent theheavens signified that Pip had set the match on its legs again.

  Our hero had now bowled five balls, all with his head. He had beenholding himself in, bowling not as he wanted to bowl, but as Ham hadtold him to bowl, and as he knew in his heart of hearts he ought tobowl. But now he was to have his sixth ball, which he was permitted tobowl in any way he pleased. Ham should see something!

  His mentor was sitting under the trees with Uncle Bill.

  "What will the infant phenomenon give us this time?" inquired thereverend gentleman.

  "Something terrifically fast, probably to leg," replied Mr. Hanbury, whoknew human nature.

  He was right. The ball caught the batsman a resounding crack on the backof the thigh, and sped away to the boundary for four--a leg-bye. Soended Pip's first over.

  Martin now resumed at his end. Evans, who had been a horrified andhelpless spectator of his companions' downfall, played him in acautious manner, as became the occasion, intending to sneak a run at theend of the over and so face the redoubtable Pip himself. But it was notto be. In his anxiety to obtain the necessary run he attempted to hit aball which he knew should have been let alone, and was caught atcover-point. Five for forty-nine.

  Once more it was Pip's turn. He found himself confronted by another hardslogger, who, instead of sticking to his last, trusting to his eye, andrunning out to hit, stood stock-still, and having solemnly planted hisbat in what he imagined was the path of the ball, awaited developments.The ball, curling like a boomerang, pitched slightly to leg, broke back,and bowled him. Six for forty-nine.

  The frenzy of the Hivites was becoming almost monotonous, and it washardly capable of augmentation when Pip bowled another man with his nextball, bringing his analysis up to five wickets for no runs.

  "The match is over," said Uncle Bill; "but it will be interesting to seeif he keeps it up to the end."

  "'Not for competition, but for exhibition only'--now," murmured Hanburydreamily.

  The next man held his bat firmly in the block-hole, as the best means ofcombating the third ball of the over,--the fast yorker,--and with theassistance of short-slip, who received the ball in the pit of hisstomach and incontinently dropped it, disappointed the entire field,friend and foe alike, by spoiling Pip's hat-trick. The batsman, a personof unorthodox style, having succeeded in despatching a yorker to slip,decided that the best place for a good length ball would be long-leg. Heaccordingly stepped in front of his wicket for the purpose of carryinghis intention into effect; but the ball, much to his surprise andindignation, evaded the all-embracing sweep of bat and hit him hard onboth shins, with the result that he was very properly given outleg-before-wicket.

  The spectators now realised that the match was as good as over; butcuriosity to see how much longer Pip would continue his extraordinaryentertainment glued them to the spot. Pip himself had lost allconsciousness of the presence of others. All his little soul wasconcentrated on one idea--to get the last two wickets with the two ballsremaining to him.

  The last batsman but one took his place, and Pip bowled his slow ball.The batsman watched it as he had been told to do, and decided in a weakmoment that it was going to be a good length ball on the off. This beingthe case, he proposed to make use of his only stroke, a ratherelaborate flourish, which, if it could be engineered at precisely theright moment, occasionally came off as a late cut. The one error intowhich this lightning calculator fell was the belief that the ball wouldpitch off the wicket. It pitched absolutely straight, got up remarkablyquickly, and, almost before the flourish was half over, bowled him. Ninefor forty-nine.

  The last man walked out slowly, but he had reached the wicket before Pipnoticed him. For Pip was plunged in thought: he had once more arrived atthe last ball of the over, the ball that he was to bowl in any way hepleased. A good deal--nay, everything--depended upon it. He wasdetermined to bowl no more full-pitches to leg. A yorker, if straight,would almost certainly settle the fate of this last trembling creature;but then yorkers are not always straight. A good length ball, on theother hand, would probably be blocked.

  "Man in," said the umpire, and suddenly Pip made up his mind.

  "His sixth ball!" remarked Uncle Bill under the trees. "What will it bethis time, I wonder?"

  "If he wants to do the hat-trick," said Hanbury, "he must take somerisks. No good giving this fellow a length ball. He'll only block it.Pip'll have to tempt him."

  And that is what Pip did. He bowled a very short ball, a very bad ball,a long-hop unspeakable, on the off side. Now, the batsman was expectinga good ball, and was prepared to present to it an immovable bat. Butthis thing, this despicable object which lobbed up so temptingly, oughthe to spare it? "Take no risks," Hewett had said; but then Hewett wasnot expecting this demon bowler to send down tosh like this. Should he?Could he? Yes--no--yes! He raised his bat uncertainly, and made ahalf-hearted pull at the ball. It struck his bat somewhere on thesplice,--the curl in the air had deceived one more victim,--flew up intothe air, and, when it descended, found Pip waiting for it with a pair ofhands that would at that moment have gripped a red-hot cannonball.

  So the innings ended for forty-nine, and the Hivites won by seventy-oneruns. In two overs Pip had taken eight wickets (doing the hat-trickincidentally) for no runs. Verily, in a house-match all things arepossible. He never accomplished such a feat again, though his sevenwickets for seven runs against the Australians ten years later, and hisfour wickets in four balls, on that historic occasion when the Gentlemenbeat the Players by an innings, were relatively far greaterperformances.

  He turned mechanically to the umpire and took his cap, and was in theact of unrolling his sleeves, when he was suddenly caught up, whirledaloft, and carried off towards the pavilion by a seething wave offrenzied Hivites. Those enthusiasts who were debarred from supportingany portion of him contented themselves with slapping outlying parts ofh
is person and uttering discordant whoops.

  Somewhere beneath his left arm-pit Pip discovered the inflamedcountenance of Master Mumford.

  "Where's young Simpson?" he screamed in that worthy's ear, not so muchbecause he wished to know as to relieve the extreme tension of thesituation.

  It was a senseless and inappropriate question, but it appeared to bringMumford's cup of happiness to overflowing point. Laying his uncombedhead upon Pip's horizontal stomach, with tears of joy streaming down hischeeks, he gasped,--

  "H-he went down to the house to g-get his k-kodak as soon as y-you wereput on bowling, so as to phuph-photograph the winning hit. And oh, hes-said they would w-win by nine wickets! He h-hasn't got back yet."

  But he was wrong. There stood Master Simpson, ready to photograph thewinning hit. But, like the Briton and the sportsman that he was, hemade the best of a bad job and photographed Pip instead. And an enlargedcopy of that snapshot hangs in Pip's smoking-room to-day, to witness ifI lie.