Mike at Wrykyn (23 page)

A
silence that could be felt brooded over the pavilion.

The
voice of the scorer, addressing from his little wooden hut the melancholy youth
who was working the telegraph-board, broke it.

“One
for two. Last man duck.”

Ellerby
echoed the remark. He got up, and took off his blazer.

“This
is all right,” he said, “isn’t it! I wonder if the man at the other end is a
sort of young Tattersall too!”

Fortunately
he was not. The star of the Ripton attack was evidently de Freece. The bowler
at the other end looked fairly plain. He sent them down medium-pace, and on a
good wicket would probably have been simple. But today there was danger in the
most guileless-looking deliveries.

Berridge
relieved the tension a little by playing safely through the over, and scoring a
couple of two’s off it. And when Ellerby not only survived the destructive de
Freece’s second over, but actually lifted a loose ball on to the roof of the
scoring-hut, the cloud began perceptibly to lift. A no-ball in the same over
sent up the first ten. Ten for two was not good; but it was considerably better
than one for two.

With
the score at thirty, Ellerby was missed in the slips off de Freece. He had been
playing with slowly increasing confidence till then, but this seemed to throw
him out of his stride. He played inside the next ball, and was all but bowled:
and then, jumping out to drive, he was smartly stumped. The cloud began to
settle again.

Bob was
the next man in.

Ellerby
took off his pads, and dropped into the chair next to Mike’s. Mike was silent
and thoughtful. He was in after Bob, and to be on the eve of batting does not
make one conversational.

“You in
next?” asked Ellerby.

Mike
nodded.

“It’s
getting trickier every minute,” said Ellerby. “The only thing is, if we can
only stay in, we might have a chance. The wicket’ll get better, and I don’t
believe they’ve any bowling at all bar de Freece. By George, Bob’s out! … No,
he isn’t.”

Bob had
jumped out at one of de Freece’s slows, as Ellerby had done, and had nearly met
the same fate. The wicket-keeper, however, had fumbled the ball.

“That’s
the way I was had,” said Ellerby. “That man’s keeping such a jolly good length
that you don’t know whether to stay in your ground or go out at them. If only
somebody would knock him off his length, I believe we might win yet.”

The
same idea apparently occurred to Burgess. He came to where Mike was sitting.

“I’m
going to shove you down one, Jackson,” he said. “I shall go in next myself and
swipe, and try and knock that man de Freece off.”

“All
right,” said Mike. He was not quite sure whether he was glad or sorry at the
respite.

“It’s a
pity old Wyatt isn’t here,” said Ellerby. “This is just the sort of time when
he might have come off.”

“Bob’s
broken his egg,” said Mike.

“Good
man. Every little helps…. Oh, you silly ass, get
back!”

Berridge
had called Bob for a short run that was obviously no run. Third man was
returning the ball as the batsmen crossed. The next moment the wicket-keeper
had the bails off. Berridge was out by a yard.

“Forty-one
for four,” said Ellerby. “Help!”

Burgess
began his campaign against de Freece by skying his first ball over cover’s head
to the boundary. A howl of delight went up from the school, which was repeated,
fortissimo,
when, more by accident than by accurate timing, the captain
put on two more fours past extra-cover. The bowler’s cheerful smile never
varied.

Whether
Burgess would have knocked de Freece off his length or not was a question that
was destined to remain unsolved, for in the middle of the other bowler’s over
Bob hit a single; the batsmen crossed; and Burgess had his leg-stump uprooted
while trying a gigantic pull-stroke.

The
melancholy youth put up the figures, 54, 5, 12, on the board.

Mike,
as he walked out of the pavilion to join Bob, was not conscious of any
particular nervousness. It had been an ordeal having to wait and look on while
wickets fell, but now that the time of inaction was at an end he felt curiously
composed. When he had gone out to bat against the M.C.C. on the occasion of his
first appearance for the school, he experienced a quaint sensation of
unreality. He seemed to be watching his body walking to the wickets, as if it
were someone else’s. There was no sense of individuality.

But now
his feelings were different. He was cool. He noticed small things—mid-off
chewing bits of grass, the bowler re-tying the scarf round his waist, little
patches of brown where the turf had been worn away. He took guard with a clear
picture of the positions of the fieldsmen photographed on his brain.

Fitness,
which in a batsman exhibits itself mainly in an increased power of seeing the
ball, is one of the most inexplicable things connected with cricket. It has
nothing, or very little, to do with actual health. A man may come out of a
sick-room with just that extra quickness in sighting the ball that makes all
the difference; or he may be in perfect training and play inside straight
half-volleys. Mike would not have said that he felt more than ordinarily well
that day. Indeed, he was rather painfully conscious of having bolted his food
at lunch. But something seemed to whisper to him, as he settled himself to face
the bowler, that he was at the top of his batting form. A difficult wicket
always brought out his latent powers as a bat. It was a standing mystery with
the sporting Press how Joe Jackson managed to collect fifties and sixties on
wickets that completely upset men who were, apparently, finer players. On days
when the Olympians of the cricket world were bringing their averages down with
ducks and singles, Joe would be in his element, watching the ball and pushing
it through the slips as if there were no such thing as a tricky wicket. And
Mike took after Joe.

A
single off the fifth ball of the over opened his score and brought him to the
opposite end. Bob played ball number six back to the bowler, and Mike took
guard preparatory to facing de Freece.

The
Ripton slow bowler took a long run, considering his pace. In the early part of
an innings he often trapped the batsmen in this way, by leading them to expect
a faster ball than he actually sent down. A queer little jump in the middle of
the run increased the difficulty of watching him.

The
smiting he had received from Burgess in the previous over had not had the
effect of knocking de Freece off his length. The ball was too short to reach with
comfort, and not short enough to take liberties with. It pitched slightly to
leg, and whipped in quickly. Mike had faced half-left, and stepped back. The
increased speed of the ball after it had touched the ground beat him. The ball
hit his right pad.

“‘S
that?” shouted mid-on. Mid-on has a habit of appealing for l.b.w. in school
matches.

De
Freece said noting. The Ripton bowler was as conscientious in the matter of
appeals as a good bowler should be. He had seen that the ball had pitched off
the leg-stump.

The
umpire shook his head. Mid-on tried to look as if he had not spoken.

Mike
prepared himself for the next ball with a glow of confidence. He felt that he
knew where he was now. Till then he had not thought the wicket was so fast. The
two balls he had played at the other end had told him noting. They had been
well pitched up, and he had smothered them. He knew what to do now. He had
played on wickets of this pace at home against Saunders’ bowling, and Saunders
had shown him the right way to cope with them.

The
next ball was of the same length, but this time off the off-stump. Mike jumped
out, and hit it before it had time to break. It flew along the ground through
the gap between cover and extra-cover, a comfortable three.

Bob
played out the over with elaborate care.

Off the
second ball of the other man’s over Mike scored his first boundary. It was a
long-hop on the off. He banged it behind point to the terrace-bank. The last
ball of the over, a half-volley to leg, he lifted over the other boundary.

“Sixty
up,” said Ellerby, in the pavilion, as the umpire signalled another no-ball. “By
George! I believe these chaps are going to knock off the runs. Young Jackson
looks as if he was in for a century.”

“You
ass,” said Berridge. “Don’t say that, or he’s certain to get out.”

Berridge
was one of those who are skilled in cricket superstitions.

But
Mike did not get out. He took seven off de Freece’s next over by means of two
cuts and a drive. And, with Bob still exhibiting a stolid and rock-like
defence, the score mounted to eighty, thence to ninety, and so, mainly by
singles, to a hundred.

At a
hundred and four, when the wicket had put on exactly fifty, Bob fell to a
combination of de Freece and extra-cover. He had stuck like a limpet for an
hour and a quarter, and made twenty-one.

Mike
watched him go with much the same feelings as those of a man who turns away
from the platform after seeing a friend off on a long railway journey. His
departure upset the scheme of things. For himself he had no fear now. He might
possibly get out off his next ball, but he felt set enough to stay at the
wickets till nightfall. He had had narrow escapes from de Freece, but he was
full of that conviction, which comes to all batsmen on occasion, that this was
his day. He had made twenty-six, and the wicket was getting easier. He could
feel the sting going out of the bowling every over.

Henfrey,
the next man in, was a promising rather than an effective bat. He had an
excellent style, but he was uncertain. (Two years later, when he captained the
Wrykyn teams, he made a lot of runs.) But this season his batting had been
spasmodic.

Today
he never looked like settling down. He survived an over from de Freece, and hit
a fast change bowler who had been put on at the other end for a couple of fluky
fours. Then Mike got the bowling for three consecutive overs, and raised the
score to a hundred and twenty-six. A bye brought Henfrey to the batting end
again, and de Freece’s pet googly, which had not been much in evidence
hitherto, led to his snicking an easy catch into short-slip’s hands.

A
hundred and twenty-seven for seven against a total of a hundred and sixty-six
gives the impression that the batting side has the advantage. In the present
case, however, it was Ripton who were really in the better position.
Apparently, Wrykyn had three more wickets to fall. Practically they had only
one, for neither Ashe, nor Grant, nor Devenish had any pretensions to be
considered batsmen. Ashe was the school wicket-keeper. Grant and Devenish were
bowlers. Between them the three could not be relied on for a dozen in a decent
match.

Mike
watched Ashe shape with a sinking heart. The wicket-keeper looked like a man
who feels that his hour has come. Mike could see him licking his lips. There
was nervousness written all over him.

He was
not kept long in suspense. De Freece’s first ball made a hideous wreck of his
wicket.

“Over,”
said the umpire.

Mike
felt that the school’s one chance now lay in his keeping the bowling. But how
was he to do this? It suddenly occurred to him that it was a delicate position
that he was m. It was not often that he was troubled by an inconvenient
modesty, but this happened now. Grant was a fellow he hardly knew, and a school
prefect to boot. Could he go up to him and explain that he, Jackson, did not
consider him competent to bat in this crisis? Would not this get about and be
accounted to him for side? He had made forty, but even so …

Fortunately
Grant solved the problem on his own account. He came up to Mike and spoke with
an earnestness born of nerves. “For goodness’ sake,” he whispered, “collar the
bowling all you know, or we’re done. I shall get outed first ball.”

“All
right,” said Mike, and set his teeth. Forty to win! A large order. But it was
going to be done. His whole existence seemed to concentrate itself on those
forty runs.

The
fast bowler, who was the last of several changes that had been tried at the
other end, was well meaning but erratic. The wicket was almost true again now,
and it was possible to take liberties.

Mike took
them.

A
distant clapping from the pavilion, taken up a moment later all round the
ground, and echoed by the Ripton fieldsmen, announced that he had reached his
fifty.

The
last ball of the over he mis-hit. It rolled in the direction of third man.

“Come on,”
shouted Grant.

Mike
and the ball arrived at the opposite wicket almost simultaneously. Another
fraction of a second, and he would have been run out.

The
last balls of the next two overs provided repetitions of this performance. But each
time luck was with him, and his bat was across the crease before the bails were
off. The telegraph-board showed a hundred and fifty.

The
next over was doubly sensational. The original medium-paced bowler had gone on
again in place of the fast man, and for the first five balls he could not find
his length. During those five balls Mike raised the score to a hundred and
sixty.