At lunch I said: "I have just had a wire from the Surrey committee to say that I may put myself on to bowl." "That is good hearing," said Henry. "Did they hear?" asked Gerald anxiously, looking over at the Chartleigh team. "You may think you're very funny, but I'll bet you a--a--anything you like that I get George out." "All right," said Gerald. "I'll play you for second wicket down, the loser to go in last." "Done," I said, "and what about passing the salad now?" After lunch the editor took me on one side and said: "I don't like it. I don't like it at all." "Then why did you have so much?" I asked. "I mean the wicket. It's dangerous. I am not thinking of myself so much as of----" "As of the reading public?" "Quite so." "You think you--you would be missed in Fleet Street--just at first?" "You are not putting the facts too strongly. I was about to suggest that I should be a 'did not bat.'" "Oh! I see. Perhaps I ought to tell you that I was talking just now to the sister of their captain." The editor looked interested. "About the pad of the gardener?" he said. "About you. She said--I give you her own words--'Who is the tall, handsome man keeping wicket in a M.C.C. cap?' So I said you were a well-known county player, as she would see when you went in to bat." The editor shook my hand impressively. "Thank you very much," he said. "I shall not fail her. What county did you say?" "Part of Flint. You know the little bit that's got into the wrong county by mistake? That part. She had never heard of it; but I assured her it had a little bit of yellow all to itself on the map. Have you a pretty good eleven?" The editor swore twice--once for me and once for Flint. Then we went out into the field. My first ball did for George. I followed the tactics of William the First at the Battle of Hastings, 1066. You remember how he ordered his archers to shoot into the air, and how one arrow fell and pierced the eye of Harold, whereupon confusion and disaster arose. So with George. I hurled one perpendicularly into the sky, and it dropped (after a long time) straight upon the batsman. George followed it with a slightly contemptuous eye... all the way.... All the way. Of course, I was sorry. We were all much distressed. They told us afterwards he had never been hit in the eye before.... One gets new experiences. George retired hurt. Not so much hurt as piqued, I fancy. He told the umpire it wasn't bowling. Possibly. Neither was it batting. It was just superior tactics.