The Fifth Form at Saint Dominic's Part 23

Tom Senior was put on. He was nothing like as good a bowler as either Wraysford, or Oliver, or Ricketts. He bowled a very ordinary slow lob, without either twist or shoot, and was usually knocked about plentifully; and this appeared likely to be his fate now, for Wren got hold of his first ball, and knocked it right over into the scorer's tent for five. The Fifth groaned, and could have torn the wretched Tom to pieces. But the next ball was more lucky; Winter hit it, indeed, but he hit it up, sky-high, over the bowler's head, and before it reached the ground Bullinger was safe underneath it. It was with a sigh of relief that the Fifth saw this awkward partnership broken up. The score was at forty-eight for three wickets; quite enough too!

After this the innings progressed more evenly. Men came in and went out more as usual, each contributing his three or four, and one or two their ten or twelve. Among the latter was Baynes, who, at the last moment, it will be remembered, had been put into the eleven to replace Loman. By careful play he managed to put together ten, greatly to his own delight, and not a little to the surprise of his friends.

In due time the last wicket of the Sixth fell, to a total of eighty-four runs.

The small boys on the bench had had leisure to abate their ardour by this time. Bramble had recovered his spirits, and Paul and Stephen looked a little blue as they saw the total signalled.

"Eighty-four's a lot," said Stephen.

Paul nodded glumly.

"Ya, ha! How do you like it, Guinea-pigs?" jeered Bramble. "I hope _you'll_ get half as much. _I_ knew how it would be."

The two friends listened to these taunts in silent sorrow, and wished the next innings would begin.

It did presently, and not very brilliantly either. The Fifth only managed to score fifty-one, and to this total Wraysford was the only player who made anything like good scoring. Oliver got out for six, Ricketts for nine, and Tom Senior and Braddy both for a "duck's-egg."

Altogether it was a meagre performance, and things looked very gloomy for the Fifth when, for a second time, their adversaries took the wickets.

Things never turn out at cricket as one expects, however, and the second innings of the Sixth was no exception to the rule. They only made thirty-six runs. Stephen and Paul were hoa.r.s.e with yelling, as first one wicket, then another, went down for scarcely a run. Raleigh and Baynes seemed the only two who could stand up at all to the bowling of Oliver and Wraysford, but even their efforts could not keep the wickets up for long.

Every one saw now that the final innings would be a desperate struggle.

The Fifth wanted sixty-nine to be equal and seventy to win, and the question was, Would they do it in time?

Stephen and his confederate felt the weight of this question so oppressive that they left the irritating company of Mr Bramble, and walked off and joined themselves to a group of Fourth Form fellows, who were watching the match with sulky interest, evidently sore that they had none of their men in the School Eleven.

"They'll never do it, and serve them right!" said one. "Why didn't they put Mansfield in the eleven, or Banks? They're far more use than Fisher or Braddy."

"For all that, it'll be a sell if the Sixth lick," said another.

"I wouldn't much care. If we are going to be sat upon by those Fifth sn.o.bs every time an eleven is made up, it's quite time we did go in with the Sixth."

"Jolly for the Sixth!" retorted the other; whereupon Stephen laughed, and had his ears boxed for being cheeky. The Fourth Senior could not stand "cheek."

But Saint Dominic's generally was "sweet" on the Fifth, and hoped they would win. When, therefore, Tom Senior and Bullinger went in first and began to score there was great rejoicing.

But the Fourth Form fellows, among whom Stephen now was, refused to cheer for any one; criticism was more in their line.

"Did you ever see a fellow hit across wickets more horribly than Senior?" said one.

"Just look at that!" cried another. "That Bullinger's a downright m.u.f.f not to get that last ball to leg! I could have got it easily."

"Well, with that bowling, it's a disgrace if they _don't_ score; that's all I can say," remarked a third.

And so these Fourth Form grandees went on, much to Stephen's wrath, who, when Oliver went in, removed somewhere else, so as to be out of ear-shot of any offensive remarks.

Oliver, however, played so well that even the Fourth Form critics could hardly run him down. He survived all the other wickets of his side, and, though not making a brilliant score, did what was almost as useful--played steadily, and gradually demoralised the bowling of the enemy.

As the game went on the excitement increased rapidly; and when at length the ninth wicket went down for sixty-one, and the last man in appeared, with nine to win, the eagerness on both sides scarcely knew bounds.

Every ball, every piece of fielding, was cheered by one side, and every hit and every piece of play was as vehemently cheered by the other. If Raleigh and Wren had been nervous bowlers, they would undoubtedly have been disconcerted by the dead silence, followed by terrific applause, amid which every ball--even a wide--was delivered. But happily they were not.

It was at this critical juncture that Loman reappeared on the scene, much consoled to have the interview with Cripps over, and quite ready now to hear every one lament his absence from the match.

The last man in was Webster, a small Fifth boy, who in the last innings had signalised himself by making a duck's-egg. The Fifth scarcely dared hope he would stay in long enough for the nine runs required to be made, and looked on now almost pale with anxiety.

"Now," said Pembury, near whom Loman, as well as our two Guinea-pigs, found themselves, "it all depends on Oliver, and I back Oliver to do it, don't you, Loamy?"

Loman, who since the last _Dominican_ had not been on speaking terms with Pembury, did not vouchsafe a reply, "I do!" said Stephen, boldly.

"Do you, really?" replied Pembury, looking round at the boy. "Perhaps you back yourself to talk when you're not spoken to, eh, Mr Greenhorn?"

"Bravo! bravo! Well run, sir! Bravo, Fifth!" was the cry as Oliver, following up the first ball of the over, pilfered a bye from the long-stop.

"Didn't I tell you!" exclaimed Pembury, delighted; "he'll save us; he's got down to that end on purpose to take the bowling. Do you twig, Loamy? And he'll stick to that end till the last ball of the over, and then he'll run an odd number, and get up to the other end. Do you comprehend?"

"You seem to know all about it," growled Loman, who saw the force of Pembury's observations, but greatly disliked it all the same.

"Do I, really?" replied the lame boy; "how odd that is, now-- particularly without a crib!"

Loman was fast losing patience--a fact which seemed to have anything but a damping effect on the editor of the _Dominican_. But another hit or two by Oliver created a momentary diversion. It was quite clear that Pembury's version of Oliver's tactics was a correct one. He could easily have run three, but preferred to sacrifice a run rather than leave the incompetent and flurried Webster to face the bowling.

"Six to win!" cried Stephen; "I'm _certain_ Oliver will do it!"

"Yes, Oliver was always a plodding old blockhead!" drily observed Pembury, who seemed to enjoy the small boy's indignation whenever any one spoke disrespectfully of his big brother.

"He's not a blockhead!" retorted Stephen, fiercely.

"Go it! Come and kick my legs, young 'un; there's no one near but Loamy, and he can't hurt."

"Look here, you lame little wretch!" exclaimed Loman, in a pa.s.sion; "if I have any more of your impudence I'll box your ears!"

"I thought your wrist was sprained?" artlessly observed Pembury. "Here, young Paul, let's get behind you, there's a good fellow, I _am_ in such a funk!"

Whether Loman would have carried out his threat or not is doubtful, but at that moment a terrific shout greeted another hit by Oliver--the best he had made during the match--for which he ran four. One to tie, two to win! will they do it?

It was a critical moment for Saint Dominic's. Had the two batsmen been playing for their lives they could not have been more anxiously watched; even Pembury became silent.

And now the last ball of the over is bowled in dead silence. Onlookers can even hear the whizz with which it leaves Wren's hand.

It is almost wide, but Oliver steps out to it and just touches it.

Webster is half across the wickets already--ready for a bye. Oliver calls to him to come on, and runs. It is a desperate shave--too desperate for good play. But who cares for that when that run has pulled the two sides level, and when, best of all, Oliver has got up to the proper end for the next over?

Equal! What a shout greets the announcement! But it dies away suddenly, and a new anxious silence ensues. The game is saved, but not won; another run is wanted.

No one says a word, but the Fifth everywhere look on with a confidence which is far more eloquent than words.

Raleigh is the bowler from the lower end, and the Sixth send out their hearts to him. He may save them yet!

He runs, in his usual unconcerned manner, up to the wicket and delivers the ball. It is one which there is but one way of playing--among the slips.