the wicket, and
so finished his over. The Model Man was much more successful, for he
clean-bowled a negro with his third delivery. It pitched in a sort of
mountain-pass, about ten feet from the wicket; then it branched off to
the right and hit a stone, and came back again, and finally took the off
stump. I don't see how anybody alive could have played it. The batsman
retired utterly bewildered, and the Model Man assured me he had never
sent down a better ball.

A slogger came in next, and made runs rather rapidly, but nothing much
happened until the Fourth Officer's third over. Then he fell foul of me,
and took exception to my method of keeping the wicket. He was being hit
about pretty generally, and had become very hot, so, at another time, I
should not have retorted upon him; but, when he spoke, I was hot too,
and being hit about also, so I answered without deliberation. He said:

"Can't you even try to stump them?"

And I replied:

"I might, if my arms were ten feet long."

Then he said:

"You've had dozens of chances. I always want a wicket-keeper for my
bowling."

Whereupon I answered:

"You want twenty--in a row. One's no good."

He said:

"You don't like standing up to my fast ones, that's the truth."

And I responded:

"Oh, bless you, I'd stand up to them all right, if I knew _where_ to
stand. A wicket-keeper's supposed to keep the wicket, not run all over
the ground after wides."

[Illustration: "REFRESHMENTS WERE BEING SOLD."]

During this unseemly argument, the Model Man, the Treasure, and the
Doctor were all having an unpleasantness on their own account. The
Doctor was imploring our Captain to take himself off and let somebody
else bowl. He said: "Can't you see they've collared you? They've scored
twenty runs. Don't think that _I_ want to go on. Far from it. I'm only
speaking for the good of the side."

But the Model Man refused to leave off bowling for anybody. He
emphatically denied that they had collared him. Then he changed the
subject, and turned upon the Treasure, and asked him where he supposed
he was fielding.

The Treasure answered:

"This is mid-on. I'm all right."

"You may think it's mid-on, but it isn't," shouted back the worried
Model Man. "I've no doubt you're all right," he continued, bitterly,
"but you're no sportsman."

After twenty more runs had been scored, the Fourth Officer unexpectedly
and frankly admitted that he was not in form. He relinquished the ball,