waltz, which is occasionally hummed by clerks, and
whistled by errand-boys to this day; there was a periodical which lived
for ten months, entitled _Ginger Stott's Weekly_; in brief, during one
summer there was a Stott apotheosis.

But that was ten years ago, and the rising generation has almost
forgotten the once well-known name. One rarely sees him mentioned in the
morning paper now, and then it is but the briefest reference; some such
note as this "Pickering was at the top of his form, recalling the finest
achievements of Ginger Stott at his best," or "Flack is a magnificent
find for Kent: he promises to completely surpass the historic feats of
Ginger Stott." These journalistic superlatives only irritate those who
remember the performances referred to. We who watched the man's career
know that Pickering and Flack are but tyros compared to Stott; we know
that none of his successors has challenged comparison with him. He was a
meteor that blazed across the sky, and if he ever has a true successor,
such stars as Pickering and Flack will shine pale and dim in comparison.

It makes one feel suddenly old to recall that great matinee at the
Lyceum, given for Ginger Stott's benefit after he met with his accident.
In ten years so many great figures in that world have died or fallen
into obscurity. I can count on my fingers the number of those who were
then, and are still, in the forefront of popularity. Of the others poor
Captain Wallis, for instance, is dead--and no modern writer, in my
opinion, can equal the brilliant descriptiveness of Wallis's articles in
the _Daily Post_. Bobby Maisefield, again, Stott's colleague, is a
martyr to rheumatism, and keeps a shop in Ailesworth, the scene of so
many of his triumphs. What a list one might make, but how uselessly. It
is enough to note how many names have dropped out, how many others are
the names of those we now speak of as veterans. In ten years! It
certainly makes one feel old.

II

No apology is needed for telling again the story of Stott's career.
Certain details will still be familiar, it is true, the historic details
that can never be forgotten while cricket holds place as our national
game. But there are many facts of Stott's life familiar to me, which
have never been made public property. If I must repeat that which is
known, I can give the known a new setting; perhaps a new value.

He came of mixed races. His mother was pure Welsh, his father a
Yorkshire collier