Chiz makes all the runs the law allows--six, I think it is--and he's sitting resting on the wide part of his cricket-bat before the admiral even shows the top of his head over the hill with the ball. When he does and heaves it about half-way to the pitcher, or bowler, or whatever they call him, he's out of breath. Chiz sets himself for another one knee-high with an inshoot, and when he gets one he whales it again, and away trots the admiral on another hunt down the hill. And Chiz makes six more runs before they even see the top of the admiral's head over the brow of the hill. The third time, and the fourth time, Chiz sets for a knee-high one with an inshoot to it, and the third time and the fourth time he belts it over the old fellow's head and down the long slope. But on the fourth time the old fellow doesn't throw the ball in. He walks in with it and he calls in the high official umpires, or whoever they are in charge, and they have a conference, and the next thing they call the game off. By this time, doubtless (so the word was passed), the American officers have caught the idea of the game, and next time there would be a real game and so on. But there was no next game. However, next day Chiz puts out to sea, and when he's into port again he calls up on the hill as per instructions. And by and by he is passed again into the presence, who is sitting just as before at the flat desk in the middle of the room, and gazing straight before him. This time Chiz doesn't speak, not even to say; "Good morning, sir." And the graven image at the desk doesn't speak either, and there's a silence for maybe a minute, and then the old fellow barks out: "What are you standing there for? You wish to see me?" And Chiz barks out in his turn: "No, sir, I don't wish to see you." "You do not wish to see me? Then what are you doing here?" And Chiz cracks out: "I'm here because your orders compel me to be here, sir." _Zowie!_--that straightened the old boy up. He took a look at Chiz, and he says, after a while and almost pleasantly: "Have a chair." And Chiz has a chair, and they have a talk, and after that Chiz finds him a lot easier to get along with. Chiz says now that the old fellow isn't such a terrible chap--not after you get onto his curves. * * * * * When we first came over (Mac is still speaking), most of the topsiders over here were strong for the entente stuff, and a good thing, too--why not? Our fellows were mostly strong for it, too--two or three so strong that it was hard to tell whether they were Americans or something else--even their accents. And, as I say, most of the officers of our own over here were for it--most of them. But you can't rid everybody overnight of long-inherited notions. There was one chap we used to meet, and he sure was the most patronizing thing!