was buying a piece of sugarcane. He apologised
profusely. He said:

"I'se too sorry, Massa, jus' too sorry, but I'se dam hungry, Sar."

Hungry! Whoever heard of an umpire being hungry? Thirsty they may be,
and generally are, but hunger is a paltry plea to raise.

Soon afterwards, our black stoker made two brilliant catches, one after
the other, the Treasure quickly bowled their last man, and the innings
closed for seventy-three runs.

[Illustration: "BLACK STOKER MADE TWO BRILLIANT CATCHES."]

Then the rival teams scattered through St. Thomas for luncheon, the
spectators dispersed, and the goats had the cricket ground all to
themselves until the afternoon.

Some lively betting took place during our meal. The Model Man was
gloomy, and doubted the ability of his eleven to make the necessary
score on such a wicket; but the Doctor appeared extremely sanguine, and
the Fourth Officer actually guaranteed half the runs himself. He said:

"Though not a finished bat, yet it often happens that I come off with
the willow when I fail with the leather."

It struck me that if his success with one was proportionate to his
failure with the other, there seemed just reason for hoping he would get
into three figures that afternoon.

Our Captain grew very anxious about the order of going in. Finally, he
determined to start with the black stoker and me. He said:

"You play steadily and cautiously and let him hit. If it chances to be
his day, we may, after all, win with ten wickets in hand. Stranger
things have happened at cricket."

"Not many," I replied; "but we will do our best."

Our best, unfortunately, did not amount to much. The match was resumed
at half-past three, before an increased gathering of onlookers; and
three distinct rounds of applause greeted the gigantic stoker and me as
we marched to the wickets. It proved a fortunate thing that we got the
applause then, because we might have missed it later. My own innings,
for instance, did not afford the smallest loophole for enthusiasm at any
time.

[Illustration: "SOMEWHERE IN THE SMALL RIBS."]

The black certainly began well. He hit the first ball he received clean
out of the ground for six runs, but the second ball retaliated and smote
him direfully somewhere in the small ribs. Thereupon, he fell down and
rolled twenty yards to allay the agony, after which he rose up and
withdrew, declaring that he had met his death, and that no power on
earth would induce him to b