second innings on the third morning of the match, that fieldsman brought off his second brilliant catch in the outfield on the very first occasion that the hitter fairly opened his shoulders.

"It ought to have been six-it would have been six-if that d-d fellow hadn't caught it," growled the discomfited batsman. The observation was so far justifiable, insomuch as the ball would no doubt have pitched beyond the boundary if Mr Loder had not put his hands in the way at a rather critical moment.

The rival but friendly captains of the two opposing sides dined together that night at Vincent's, and when they found themselves alone in the club late on in the evening, the present captain invited his companion's advice on the subject of filling up the vacancies in the team.

There was no doubt about the first eight places.

"And then that fellow Loder, of course," said the past master in the art of choosing a side.

"Loder? Why Loder? He can't bat for nuts," exclaimed the other.

"Can't bat for nuts, can't he? Well, he can field for nuts then. Why, why, good fellow, he is a long way the best out-field you've got. He'll save as many runs as half your fellows will get. Of course ours was a rotten side to-day, and you won on your merits right enough, but look," and, drawing over the evening paper, he pointed to the score of the match. "He," this was the big hitter, "got a hundred against you last week, didn't he?"

"Well, yes, he did," admitted the other.

"And on the wicket we had on Monday, or to-day either, for the matter of that, he might just as well have got them. again; only, there you are, 'caught Loder,' and a devilish fine catch, too, and that run-out was as smart a thing as I ever saw in my life. Nine men out of ten would have thrown to the wrong end, and you or I, old chap, couldn't have thrown half-way to either. You'll have to play Loder."

"I say," exclaimed the other man, as a sudden thought occurred to him, "that was a closish shave of yours, first innings, wasn't it?"

"Very close," responded the M.C.C. captain with a grim smile; so close that I'd have had to go if your umpire hadn't over-eaten himself at lunch. That's the worst of these secondclass umpires; they're all right in the morning, but then they gorge themselves at lunch, and either go to sleep for an hour afterwards or—well, are very vulgar. It didn't matter much, as it turned out in the long-run; but if I had been in your place, and had lost the match, I'd have either fed the fellow on the bread of affliction on match-days or sacked him after the match."

"He was a bit of an ass," replied the other, laughing, "but I take it one has no more right to muzzle that creature any more than the other. But you really think I had better play Loder?"

"I've no doubt about it," pronounced the M.C.C. captain decisively," and I say, old fellow," again referring to the score on the paper, "you said he could not bat for nuts—well, he got eleven and wasn't out anyhow. Of course there was nothing to play against by that time, but if you send a fellow in eighth wicket and he is not out, you can't expect him to do much more, can you? And, by Jove! I remember now he did make a lovely cut-came past me like a flash of lightning and was at the boundary in no time. I let it go, but I daresay the young beggar would have stopped it himself. He does stop them well, and no mistake. Can he bowl at all by any

chance?"

"Stuff of a sort, I believe," answered the other carelessly; "not sure that he didn't get a wicket in the Seniors, two perhaps. But he wasn't in long."

"Well, stuff of a sort that has got a wicket is better than no stuff at all; not that there aren't plenty of your stuff of a sort bowlers about nowadays. Anything, though, for a change; and a man who can send down a ball at all may get a wicket

at Lord's. I got one once there myself, though you mightn't believe it."

"Clean bowled, eh?"

"No, caught-caught off the umpire's hind-leg, and serve him deuced well right for getting it in the way. It ought to have been four, but it wasn't: the fellow had to go."

The upshot of this conversation was that Dick Loder was taken on tour, and having, in addition to fielding brilliantly, knocked up a very timely thirty against Lancashire, was awarded his colours, and furthermore distinguished himself at Lord's when he made a plucky but ineffectual effort to save the match.

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CHAPTER XIV.

RUSTIC CRICKET-JOHN MARTIN.

I WISH that the other fellow would do his work himself and not turn me on to write his cricket chapters for him. However, it is no manner of use to try and argue with him, and as I have to write, I would sooner write about cricket than about any other subject.

I am an old cricketer myself, very much behind the times of course, and I still hold to the idea that I had in more active days an idea, I may say, that I have inherited from my forefathers that there is no game in the world that can hold a candle to cricket, no outdoor occupation so improving to the mind and invigorating to the body. Here let me remark that I thus speak of cricket as regarded in the light of a pastime. For, to my mind at all events, cricket, like any other game, when it ceases to be a pastime and is adopted as a profession— whether an openly paid or a sub rosâ paid profession, or even an unpaid profession-must lose its charms. However, I am not going to discuss the question of professionalism in cricket or in ball games generally. I will simply say that I love most ball-games, cricket in particular, and that I hate professionals as a class, though I will not deny that I have met with many very worthy, nay, I will even say very charming individuals, who pass as professional cricketers.

Once, only once, never again please, I went to see what they

are pleased to call an international cricket match, a very interesting sight, no doubt, to thousands of the spectators; to myself, alas! vanity and vexation of spirit. In my ignorance or my old-fashioned-what the Yankees call-" cussedness," I had fancied that the ball was meant to hit the wicket and the bat to hit the ball, but I give you my word of honour that I saw a good many overs bowled in which nothing was hit at all but either the wicket-keeper's hands or the batsman's leg, which he apparently put in the way on purpose.

"Why don't they change the bowling?" I asked my nephew, who had tempted me to accompany him to watch the match. "Oh, but he is bowling too beautifully, Uncle John; he is bowling with his head."

"And is the other fellow batting with his head?" I asked. "Well, yes, in a way he is, you know." All those young fellows nowadays seem to end up their remarks with "you know." "Don't you see how he is watching the ball?"

"Why doesn't he come and sit here and watch it then? He has kicked it twice, and that is all I have seen him do for the last ten minutes. There! he tried to kick it again!"

"Ah!" said my companion, "I'm afraid, my dear uncle, that you don't appreciate the nice points of the game. It's a funny game, this first-class cricket, you know."

"More dull than funny," I snapped, and then the conversation languished, and so too did I.

No, no, when I go to watch what they call first-class cricket, give me the University match, when those boys, or at any rate some of them, do hit hard and often, and look like so many cats in the field. Or give me my own village green, where Bill Tomkins really does hit the ball, and George Harris really does bowl at the wickets, and nearly every lad on our side can hold a high catch even though the safe holding thereof seems to depend upon a certain rather nasty and yet in some circles apparently necessary preliminary.

66

Whoy, I counted as you were agoing to drop her, Harry," remarked our umpire one fine day to a deeply mortified young