He put his arm fondly through Frank’s, and returned to his carriage. The crowd was collecting about the rope, and the Cambridge men were already taking their places in the field. Their score of a hundred was higher than the average in those days, and the villagers were eagerly discussing the chances of their team excelling it. They had seen nothing of the other side’s bowling powers, but as they compared notes on the various merits as batsmen of Honest John, and Long Robin, and Lumpy, and the rest, many of them shook their heads and looked rather down in the mouth. The first pair of batsmen came to the wickets. They were Old Everlasting and Soapy Dick. The former took the first over, bowled by Gilbert Young, the captain of the team, and calmly blocked every ball of the four, giving a wink to his friends in the crowd when over was called. Soapy Dick, at the other wicket, was a little man with very red hair brushed up into a sort of top-knot in front. He handled his bat in a nervous manner, and was made still more nervous by the cries of the crowd. "Hit un, Soapy!" cried one yokel. "Doan’t be afeard, man." "Gi’t lather, Soapy!" shouted another, whose cheeks cried out for the barber’s attentions. Dick grinned mirthlessly, and fixed his eyes on the bowler at the other end. The ball came towards him—a slow, tempting lob that was too easy to let pass. Dick lifted his bat and smote; the ball returned gently to the bowler’s hands, and a roar of derision sped the shame-faced little barber back to the tent. One wicket down, and no notches!—a bad beginning for Winton St. Mary. Lumpy was the next to appear. He waddled across the grass turning up his sleeves—a fat little fellow with bandy legs, and arms as thick as most men’s thighs. As he stood to take his block, he seemed to handle the bat with contemptuous surprise, as though wondering what use that was to a man accustomed to wield the sledgehammer at the anvil. Satisfied with his position, he planted his feet firmly, drew his left hand across his mouth, and glared fiercely at the bowler. He was not to be so easily tempted as poor Soapy Dick had been. He waited for the ball, and as it rose brought his bat down upon it with a perpendicular blow that appeared to drive it into the turf, where it lay dead. The Cambridge men roared with laughter, the crowd applauded vigorously, and Lumpy once more wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. The third ball of the over came, pitching slightly to leg. Lumpy jumped completely round as the ball reached him, and with a tremendous swipe sent it high over long-stop’s head into a patch of gorse, whence it was not recovered until he had had three notches cut to his credit. The last ball of the over thus came to Old Everlasting, who solemnly blocked it, and beamed upon the spectators with his usual smug smile.