“Grace’ll accept you then!” said Carteret. He had the air of a man who has found himself out in saying a smart thing. Impatient Reader, I am aware that this is very impossible considered as talk, and very contemptible considered as wit; but even county cricketers can do no better in a dry season. The long spells of fielding are too much, even for their magnificent physiques. It must be admitted that in very wet years, such as ’79 and ’88, when the bowlers have made hay, they are occasionally heard to quote Mrs. Humphry Ward, Mr. Hall Caine, and poor dear Mr. Shakespeare. At all other times their quotations can be traced to the _Pink ’Un_. Finding that there had been a “slump” in the Optimist’s courage, the mischievous little parson was good enough to honour me with some attention. “My dear Dimsdale,” he purred, “we are hoping that for the honour of Little Clumpton you’re not going to funk.” “Hickory’ll lay five to two he does,” said Carteret. “Oh, if you are going to make it a sort of international affair,” said I protestingly. But all the same these cunning men were trapping me. And to crown all, the one person I counted on to lend me his aid, betrayed me basely and played into the hands of the other side. “My dear chap,” the benevolent Optimist said, “I’ve known Grace from her earliest youth, but I am perfectly willing to waive the priority of my claim. Perfectly willing, as I cannot too explicitly state. I recognise my limitations. But you, my dear Dimsdale, are one of those big-gutted Britons who runs this little earth, the sun, the moon, and the planetary system for the private amusement of himself and a few of his English friends. You are of the fibre to go in and win.” “Besides, we’ve all great confidence in Little Clumpton in the ultimate,” said the complimentary little parson; “and we know that when Dimsdale gets his blood up he’s the doggedest swashbuckler that ever said, ‘What ho!’” The effusiveness of my aiders and abettors made me squirm. “You’ve got to do it now,” said the Optimist. “Since the affair has become another Little Clumpton _v._ Hickory, you must do something for your side, you know, particularly as you were the only single figure man yesterday.” “Must try and get into the doubles, old chap,” said the little parson coaxingly. “Deuced pleasant outlook,” said I. “Shouldn’t care if I’d played for the county once; but a mere club-man--ugh!” “She may be rather rude,” said Toddles. “Cool cheek makes some girls stick their fur up. Or she mayn’t, of course. Might let you down ever so gently, as she’s had a lot of experience.” “A word in your ear,” said the Optimist. “Whatever you do, don’t play the goose game. Hard slogging’s the sort o’ thing for Grace. That’s where that owl, Boughey, always comes such a cropper. Will spread himself so.”