I do not know that I could improve
upon the detail of it. I can see those queer, freckled, hairy arms of
his as I write--the combination of colours in them produced an effect
that was almost orange. It struck one as unusual....

Surrey had the choice of innings, and decided to bat, despite the fact
that the wicket was drying after rain, under the influence of a steady
south-west wind and occasional bursts of sunshine. Would any captain in
Stott's second year have dared to take first innings under such
conditions? The question is farcical now, but not a single member of the
Hampdenshire Eleven had the least conception that the Surrey captain was
deliberately throwing away his chances on that eventful day.

Wallis and I were sitting together in the reporters' box. There were
only four of us; two specials,--Wallis and myself,--a news-agency
reporter, and a local man.

"Stott takes first over," remarked Wallis, sharpening his pencil and
arranging his watch and score-sheet--he was very meticulous in his
methods. "They've put him to bowl against the wind. He's medium right,
isn't he?"

"Haven't the least idea," I said. "He volunteered no information;
Hampdenshire have been keeping him dark."

Wallis sneered. "Think they've got a find, eh?" he said. "We'll wait and
see what he can do against first-class batting."

We did not have to wait long.

As usual, Thorpe and Harrison were first wicket for Surrey, and Thorpe
took the first ball.

It bowled him. It made his wicket look as untidy as any wicket I have
ever seen. The off stump was out of the ground, and the other two were
markedly divergent.

"Damn it, I wasn't ready for him," we heard Thorpe say in the
professionals' room. Thorpe always had some excuse, but on this occasion
it was justified.

C. V. Punshon was the next comer, and he got his first ball through the
slips for four, but Wallis looked at me with a raised eyebrow.

"Punshon didn't know a lot about that," he said, and then he added, "I
say, what a queer delivery the chap has. He stands and shoots 'em out.
It's uncanny. He's a kind of human catapult." He made a note of the
phrase on his pad.

Punshon succeeded in hitting the next ball, also, but it simply ran up
his bat into the hands of short slip.

"Well, that's a sitter, if you like," said Wallis. "What's the matter
with 'em?"

I was beginning to grow enthusiastic.

"Look here, Wallis," I said, "this chap's going to break records."

Wallis