“To bring his score up to thirty-five,” said the Optimist, “without the crowd suspecting that he’s got so many. If they were to applaud him, they’d put him off his game.” “I wish they would, then,” said Miss Grace cruelly. “Why don’t somebody bowl him? the little horror! There, did you see him snick that one away for another single? That makes him thirty-six. It’s positively wicked of him. I wonder how a silly point would affect him?” “Every low dodge of that kind has been tried and found wanting years ago,” said the Optimist. Miss Grace grew pensive for a moment. “I have it!” she cried. “I’ll tell Charlie, if he’s still in at lunch, to go on again at the top end, and pitch short and bump ’em. If Charlie hit him over the heart about four times, that might give him pause, don’t you think?” “I doubt it,” said I; “unless Charlie happens to be a Maxim gun.” CHAPTER VIII A Cricket Lunch WHEN the bell rang for luncheon at half-past one, the score-sheet was pretty reading:-- FIRST INNINGS OF LITTLE CLUMPTON. H. J. Halliday, not out 98 R. C. Dimsdale, lbw b T. S. M. Trentham 7 J. F. S. Oldknow, not out 46 Extras 14 ---- Total for 1 wicket 165 As the players came trooping in from the field, pangs of sadness overtook both the Optimist and me, for we knew that for the present our right good time was at an end. We were condemned to go and lunch in the stuffy marquee, among the wasps and bad speeches. But I had failed to allow for the particular talent of the Optimist. He is a man who is certain to make his mark in diplomacy one day. His eye had observed a pretty substantial hamper on the roof of the coach. “Pity us, Grace,” said he appealingly, as we prepared to descend. “We’ve got to spend the next hour in that ‘Inferno,’ fishing flies out of the salad and ‘hearing, hearing’ the Earl’s annual, ‘Gentlemen, I can assure you that this auspicious occasion is one of the proudest moments of my--er--er--life.’ Pity us, Grace!” “I do, old chap,” said Grace, very earnestly. “But you needn’t, you know. That is, if you can stand sandwiches and ginger beer. There’s lots here, in the hamper. Oh! and I think there’s a bottle of fizz.” “It’s really too good of you,” said the Optimist. But Miss Grace was so prompt in her attempt to pull forth the hamper in question from under the seat that our thanks, scruples, and retreat were all alike submerged in the assistance we felt bound to lend her. “What a weight it is!” said I. “There must be enough for both teams here.” “I believe in being prepared for emergencies,” said she. “Feed ’em, I say. A man that can’t eat’s no good for cricket. And there’s certain to be some of the boys along presently. Hullo! here’s Charlie, for one. Don’t he look awfully sorry for himself, poor old chap! That’s ’cause he’s got no wickets. Buck up, Charlie!”