If there was any one thing I dearly loved, it was a good game--a regular
well-fought struggle--at cricket. Oddly enough, I used to like to be on
the losing side, with the eleven who were so far behind that their fight
was becoming desperate, and every effort had to be made to steal a run
here and another there, slowly building up the score, with the
excitement gradually increasing, and the weaker side growing stronger
and more hopeful hour by hour, till, perhaps, by the clever batting of
one boy, who has got well to work, and who, full of confidence, sets at
defiance the best efforts in every change of bowler, the score is lifted
right up to the winning-point, and he comes back to the tent with the
bat over his shoulder, amidst the cheers of all the lookers-on.

I suppose I got on well with my education at Doctor Browne's. I know I
got on well at cricket, for whenever a match was made up for some
holiday, I was in so much request that both sides were eager to have me.

The Doctor had promised us a holiday to play the boys of a school at
Hastings. They were to come over on an omnibus, and a tent was to be
set up in our field, where, after the game, a high tea was to be
provided for the visitors before they returned to Hastings in the
evening.

I need hardly say that the day was looked forward to with the greatest
eagerness, and that plans were made to give our visitors a thorough good
thrashing.

Burr major, as captain of the eleven, rather unwillingly, I'm afraid,
but for the sake of the credit of the school, selected Mercer and me for
the match. I was to be wicket-keeper, and Mercer, from his clever and
enduring running, and power to cover so much ground, was made long field
off.

Burr major and Stewart were to bowl, with Dicksee as a change when
necessary, for he had a peculiar knack and twist in handling a ball, and
could puzzle good players by sending in an innocent-looking,
slowly-pitched ball, which looked as if it was going wide, and, when it
had put the batsman off his guard, and induced him to change his
position, so as to send the ball flying out of the field, it would
suddenly curl round and go right into the wicket.

All went well. We practised every evening, and again for an hour before
breakfast each morning, and, as I warmed up to my task, I easily stopped
all Stewart's or Burr major's swiftest balls, and got to know how to
deal with what Mercer called "old Dicksee's jerry sneaks." The tent