Breakfast over, we trooped out into the sun. And as we did so I am free to confess that my attire was a trifle irregular. Carteret being the most medium-built man amongst us, except in the matter of girth, and, therefore, the most resembling me, had very kindly lent me his buckskins; Charlie lent me one of his shirts, which, to my infinite pleasure, he assured me was the one he wore in the ’Varsity match, when he got so many Oxford wickets, and paid so very little for them; while Archie subscribed the identical pair of unmentionables in which he made his record score against Sussex at Brighton last year. In passing, it should be noted that record scores have quite a habit of getting themselves made against Sussex at Brighton. It is probably the sea air. Despite this peculiar and rather extensive outfit, and an unbiassed umpire withal, I was earnestly assured that I could not possibly have a look in. In fact, Grace was popularly supposed to be invincible in single combat under Rectory rules, on the Rectory wicket. A copy of the rules aforesaid was duly deposited in the Rector’s hands before the match began. And, although I was privileged to peruse them, the one conclusion to which they helped me was, that although the laws of the M.C.C. had very kindly and thoughtfully provided nine several ways in which a batsman might get out, those of the Rectory had most generously furnished nine and ninety. I’ll admit at once that I had not the least confidence in myself. Everybody took a simple-minded pleasure in telling me that Grace never had been beaten single-handed on her own playing-piece. “My boy,” said the little parson, with his excruciating friendliness, “that brown-haired, brown-faced, brown-booted, brown-hollanded person, familiarly known as Grace, is as full of wiles, tricks, and low devices as a certain person with a toasting-fork and a curly tail whom I shall not even permit myself to mention. If you can take Grace down a peg, posterity becomes your servant. Your fame will be for all time, your name will be in Wisden. For I believe I’m right in saying that under these conditions Grace would knock spots off half the Middlesex eleven.” “Certain of it,” said Archie pleasantly. “She’s a holy terror; and the charm of it is, Dimsdale, that she never has made a secret of what she’s going to do to you.” “Why should I?” said Grace. “I’m going to give him a most awful licking for last night’s horrible behaviour.” “All right,” said I meekly; “lick away.” “Dimmy,” said she, “if I don’t, I’ll give you a scarf-pin.” “I shall require more than a scarf-pin,” said I. And the emphasis I used was unmistakable. “By Jove!” said Grace, “I was forgetting _that_. Thanks for the reminder, old chap. Will you call, or shall I?” Next moment Grace had won the toss. “Dimmy,” said she, “as your bowling’s so thoroughly depressing, and you’re not likely to have _me_ out in a year, I think you’d better bat first. Get your pads on.” CHAPTER XX