“Well, anyhow,” she continued, “I’m not going to let England lose the rubber this time, if I can help it. And they will, that’s a cert., if you’re not there, Charlie, to rattle their timber. They can play everybody else as easily as they’d play that stuff o’ Toddles’s.” “Cheek,” said the reverend patentee of “that stuff o’ Toddles’s,” employing the power of speech with evident difficulty, “awful cheek.” “Always was you know, Toddles, your bowling,” said Miss Grace indulgently. “But we won’t go into that now. What ought I to say to Stoddy when I write him? Would he think it too familiar if I began, ‘My dear Mr. Stoddart,’ or ought it to be ‘Dear Sir’? Don’t quite know how to start it, don’t you know. You see Stoddy’s not exactly an ordinary person, don’t you see. The Guv’nor says great men are so touchy.” Miss Grace was evidently embarrassed. So were some others. The little parson’s laughter rumbled from his boots until one wondered how his small eights could hold so much. As for the unhappy Charlie, he was so completely demoralised that after saying, “Why don’t some of you men give her another stone-ginger to keep her quiet?” he proceeded to fill an immense tumbler with neat gin for that purpose, under the impression that he was pouring out ginger beer. When at last things had sorted themselves out a bit, during which process Miss Grace, the innocent cause of this disorder, regarded us all with unaffected gravity, the little parson said, with an expression of really concentrated elfishness: “But you know, you men, there’s a wonderful amount of truth in what Grace says. If Stoddy really has forgotten Charlie, and if she reminds him of the fact, she will be doing a service to her country, won’t she?” “By Jove, she will,” chorused the Optimist and I. “Well, if that’s the case, I’m sure I’ll write to Stoddy then,” said Grace. And she looked as though she meant to do it too. The poor bowler had got about as much as he could bear. I think I never saw a grown man look more completely overborne. He began doggedly to munch another sandwich, and nearly choked himself by trying to whistle a jaunty music hall ditty expressive of heart-easing mirth with his mouth full. When he spoke, his voice was so subdued and melancholious that, as Miss Grace said, it reminded her of Toddles reading the marriage service. “She’ll do it,” he said. “Rather a good joke for me, eh? He’s sure to show it to McGregor and O’Brien and that lot. They’ll simply die. Shan’t be able to show my face up at Lord’s for years. Awfully nice for me, eh?” “Well,” Miss Grace said, “I hope Stoddy does show it to McGregor and O’Brien and that lot. They’ll tell him what a fool he’s been to overlook you, Charlie.” “She means it,” said I, to console him.