"Absolutely fiery out there," said he, accepting a cup gratefully.

"Thanks, awfully, Mrs. Anderson; you people are no end good. Didn't we make a beautiful exhibition of ourselves?--all except Dave and this kid, that is."

"Kid yourself," said Wally, who was sucking a lemon slowly and luxuriously. "No tea, thanks, Norah. I'm boiling already, and if I took tea I don't know what might happen, but certainly heat apoplexy would be part of it. Have half my lemon?"

"I don't think so, thanks," said Norah, unmoved by this magnificent offer. "You seem to be getting used to that one, and I'd hate to deprive you of it. Do you boys think we've any chance?"

"It's highly doubtful," Jim answered. "The general opinion is that Mulgoa's good for 150 at the very least--they've got a few rather superior men, I believe, and of course that Billings chap is a terror.

And the wicket, such as it is, is all in favour for the bat--which doesn't say much for us And one of our men has gone down with the heat and can't field--fellow from the hotel with red hair, who made five--remember him, Wal.? He's out of training, like most hotel chaps, and as soft as possible, So we're playing a man short."

"I wish they'd give you Murty back!" said Norah, with feminine ignorance.

"Much hope!" returned her brother. "Anyway, Murty's not over good in the field; he's too much in the saddle to be a quick man on his feet. I wouldn't mind you as subst.i.tute, Nor."--which remark, though futile, pleased Norah exceedingly.

She was rather more hopeful when the Cunjee team at length took the field, with Boone and the blacksmith bowling against Billings and another noted Mulgoa warrior. But her hopes were rapidly put to flight, and the spirits of the Cunjee "barrackers" went down to zero as it became distressingly apparent that Mr. Billings and his partner were there to stay. Alike they treated the bowling with indifference, hitting the Billabong stockman with especial success--which soon demoralized Dave, who appealed to be taken off, and devoted his energies to short slip fielding. Here he had his revenge presently, for the second Mulgoa man hit a ball almost into his hands, and Dave clung to it as a drowning man to a straw--one wicket for thirty-five.

Then the score mounted with alarming steadiness, and the wickets fell all too slowly for the home team. Dan Billings appeared as comfortable at the wickets as though on the box of his couch, and smote the bowling all round the ground with impartiality. The heat became more and more oppressive, and several of the Cunjee men were tiring, including plump little Dr. Anderson, who stuck to his work as wicket-keeper pluckily--to the unconcealed anxiety of his wife. His reward came when a hot return from the field by Wally gave him a chance of stumping one of the Mulgoa cracks. But the enthusiasm was only momentary; the game was considered, even by the most sanguine small boy of Cunjee, to be "all over bar shouting."

Jim had been bowling for some time from one end with fair results. The batsmen certainly took fewer liberties with him, and he managed to account for three of them for a comparatively low average. He had allowed himself to become anxious, which is a bad thing for a bowler when the score is creeping up and the batsmen are well set. Wally watched his chum with some anxiety--there was none of the fire in his bowling that had so often brought down the ground in a School match.

"Wish he's wake up," said Wally to himself. "I'd like a chance to talk to him."

The chance came when the field crossed over, disposed anew to harry a left-handed batsman. Jim came over with his long, swinging walk, his head a little bent. He started a little at his friend's voice.

"You'll snore soon!" said Wally, incisively. "What on earth's the matter with you? Play up, School!"

Jim stopped short a moment--and burst out laughing, Wally's indignant face glanced back over his shoulder as he ran off. There was a new spring in the bowler's walk as he went to his crease, and the smile still lingered.

The left-handed man faced him confidently--not many local bowlers could trouble him much, and being a large and well-whiskered gentleman, the tall schoolboy opposite to him sent no thrill of fear through his soul.

But Jim had learned a thing or two at school about left-handed bats. He took a short run.

On returning to the pavilion the whiskered one admitted that he knew really nothing about the ball. It seemed to come from nowhere, and curl about his bat as he lifted it to strike. How the bails came off was a mystery to him, though it was unfortunately beyond question that they had not remained on. The left-hander removed his pads, ruminating.

Cunjee, meanwhile, had cheered frantically, and Wally sent a School yell ringing down the field. Jim's eye lit up anew as he heard it.

"I do believe I've been asleep," he muttered.

The new man was waiting for him, and he treated his first two b.a.l.l.s with respect. Then he grew bolder; hit him for a single, and snicked him to the fence for four. There was a perceptible droop in the Cunjee spirits at the boundary hit. Then Jim bowled the last ball of the over, and there was a composite yell from Cunjee as the Mulgoa man pushed the ball gently into the air just over Dr. Anderson's head. The little doctor was pitifully hot, but he did not fail. The Mulgoa batsman returned to his friends.

Dan Billings was a little worried. Much, he felt, depended on him, and he had never been more comfortably set; but his men--would they be as reliable? He decided to hit out, and Mulgoa roared as the hundred went up for a beautiful boundary hit. Six wickets were down, and Mulgoa was 107 at the end of the over. It seemed safe enough.

Jim took the ball again, his fingers pressing the red surface almost lovingly. He had quite waked up; his head was buzzing with "theories,"

and his old power seemed to have come back to his fingers. The first ball came with a beautiful leg-break, and the Mulgoan bat swiped at it wildly, and vainly. Seven for 107.

Cunjee was getting excited as the eighth man came in--a wiry and long youth with a stolid face. He contented himself with blocking Jim's bowling, s.n.a.t.c.hing a single presently so that Billings would have the responsibility--to which that gentleman promptly responded by smiting Jim for three. That brought the stolid youth back to power--an honour he did not wish. He hit the next ball softly back to the bowler. Eight for 111; and Cunjee howling steadily, with all its youth, and some of its beauty, battering with sticks on tins. A dog ran across the ground, and was greeted with a yell that made it scurry away in terror, its tail concealed between its legs. Just then Cunjee had no time for dogs.

But it was Mr. Billings' turn, and Mr. Billings was busy. He made good use of the over--the score mounted, and the Cunjee hopes swung lower. It was still eight--for 115--when a single brought his companion to face little Harry Blake, the other Cunjee bowler, who was plainly feeling the weight of his position. He sent the ball down nervously--it slipped as it left his hand, and the Mulgoan stepped out to meet it, while Harry gasped with horror. Up, up, it soared--a boundary surely! Then there was a roar as Wally Meadows gathered himself together, raced, and sprang for the red disc, spinning over his head just at the fence. It seemed to hover above him--then his hands closed, and, unable to stop himself, Wally somersaulted, rolling over and over in the long gra.s.s of the outfield. He sat up, his brown face lit by a wide smile, the ball still clutched, held above his head. Nine for 115!

The tension was on bowlers and batsmen alike now--all save Dan Billings, whose calmness was unimpaired. He greeted the tenth man cheerfully--and the tenth man was Murty O'Toole, very hot and nervous, and certainly the most miserable man on the ground as he faced "Masther Jim's"

bowling, and knew that the alien hopes of Mulgoa depended on him. Out in the open a Mulgoa man shrugged his shoulders, remarking, "He won't try!" and was promptly attacked furiously by three small boys of Cunjee, who pelted him with clods and abuse from a safe distance. Murty looked at Jim with a little half-apologetic gesture, and Jim grinned.

"Play up, Murty, old chap!" he said.

It was not in vain that he had schooled the stockman in the paddock at Billabong. He sent down a treacherous ball, and Murty met it and played it boldly for two, amid Mulgoan shrieks. Two to tie and three to win--no, one fewer now, for the Irishman had turned a swift ball to leg, and only quick fielding had prevented a boundary. A hundred and seventeen! Murty heaved a sigh of relief as he leaned on his bat at the bowler's end and glanced across at Jim.

"Praises be, 'twill be Billings to hit it, an' not O'Toole!" he muttered. "I have put me fut in it sufficient f'r wance!"

The ball left Jim's hand with a whizz, and Billings stepped out to meet it. Just what happened no one saw clearly for a moment, it all came to pa.s.s so quickly. Then an Irish yell from Murty O'Toole woke the echoes, even as the bowler's hand flashed up above his head--and the big stockman flung up his bat in an ecstasy of delight. Billings bit off a sharp word and left his crease; and Cunjee woke to the fact that the Mulgoan captain was caught and bowled. The match was theirs--by one run!

When Cunjee woke it became very thoroughly awake. They rushed the ground, cheering, shouting and hurling hats and caps into the air, irrespective of their owners' wishes. There was a demonstration to carry Jim in, which that hero promptly quenched by taking to his heels and leaving his too affectionate friends far in the rear. Behind him Cunjee and Mulgoa seethed together, and the air was rent with cheers.

Free fights were in active progress in at least five places on the ground. It was clearly Cunjee's day out.

Jim met Wally with a grin that was distinctly sheepish.

"Knew you could!" said the Mentor, patting him happily on the back.

"Good old School! But what an a.s.s you were, Jimmy!"

"I was," said Jim, meekly.

CHAPTER XV

THE RIDE HOME

In the gathering of night-gloom o'erhead in The still, silent change.

GORDON.

"Well, old girl?"

Norah laughed up at the big fellow delightedly.

"Oh, wasn't it lovely, Jimmy?" she said. "I was so excited--and you were grand! And wasn't Wally's catch a beauty? It's been a lovely match, hasn't it, Jim?"

"H'm--in spots," said Jim, a little doubtfully, but laughing back at her. "Rather like the fellow who said his egg was 'excellent--in parts,'

don't you think? Anyhow, we won, and that's the main thing--and I never DID see a catch to beat that of Wal's."

"We're all immensely proud of you, Jim," Mrs. Anderson said. "And didn't my old man do well?"

"He did, indeed," Jim agreed heartily. "But I'm not a bit proud of myself--I think I was asleep most of the time, till old Wal., here, woke me up with a few well-chosen words. However, it's over now--and Norah, I want you to get along home."

"Aren't you coming?" Norah asked, a little blankly.

"We'll have to catch you up. I don't quite like the look of the weather; we're in for a storm, that's certain, and you may possibly escape it if you get away now. I can't start just yet; the Mulgoa fellows are insisting on 'shouting' for all hands, and we can't very well refuse; besides"--he dropped his voice--"you know what Boone is--I must see that he and Murty leave Cunjee. Cecil will look after you, won't you, Cecil?"

That gentleman a.s.sented without any pleasure. He did not feel impressed with the prospect of acting as escort to a small girl when he might have remained in Cunjee. Norah was quick to notice his manner.

"I needn't bother Cecil, Jim," she said, "I can quite easily ride on by myself."