“Why, the joke is that you’ve not got the slightest earthly, my dear chap,” said Grace. “Else do you think I’d have taken those absurd conditions?” This was comforting in the extreme! It was no more than I deserved though. But my imperial Anglo-Saxon rose in all the majesty of his Rudyard Kipling. “All right,” said I; “but this is going to be no walk over. I’m going all the way, I can tell you, Grace. A game’s never won till it’s lost.” “I’m glad you’re cheerful,” said Grace, “’cause your gruelling’ll be so prime that you’ll want a _dreadful_ lot of cheerfulness. It just makes me shudder to think what’ll happen to you, Dimmy.” “You can’t intimidate me,” said I; “you can’t make me funk you.” “That’ll come later,” said Grace, “when you go on to bowl!” “Cricket, cricket, and still cricket!” It was the voice of the Rector, who had come upon us unobserved. “Mornin’, Father,” said his daughter. “All serene this morning? You were reading Livy rather late last night, weren’t you? Oh, you literary men, your hours are dreadful!” “If you are too ironical,” said the Rector, accepting the cheek she so promptly offered him--yes, I mean in both a figurative and a _literal_ sense. I certainly intended no pun, but if one has to deal with the confounded English language, how _is_ one to avoid its pitfalls?--“If you are too ironical,” said the Rector, “I’ll preach a fifty minutes’ sermon to-morrow, Laura.” As was subsequently explained, this was quite the most effective means of dealing with the misdemeanours of Miss Grace. CHAPTER XIX A Case for M.C.C. CONTRARY to expectation, breakfast was dispatched in sufficiently reasonable time to permit my match with Grace to start about eleven. Needless to say, Grace herself arranged the details. The seven cricketers who were not playing on this occasion, instead of being allowed to act the part of mere lookers-on, received orders to field for both sides. “And, Toddles,” said Grace, in an intimidating tone, “if you drop Dimmy and then take me, I’ll never forgive you.” Her father, to my great uneasiness, was to be installed as scorer, under his usual convenient willow tree; and the notorious Biffin she proposed to nominate as umpire. Acting on the joint advice of Toddles and Archie, I entered a formal protest against Biffin being allowed to stand in this important fixture. This matter, which involved much more than I had suspected, was debated at the breakfast-table. “Oh,” said Grace, “you’ve nothing against Biffin’s personal character, I hope?” “Oh, no,” said I; “it’s only that he don’t quite command my confidence, you know.”