“Yes,” he protested, “there are six balls to an over.”

Penny placed the fruit-ball between his gums and his cheek, and answered magnificently: 

“There are not.  There are just as many as I choose to give.”

Then he took the fruit-ball on his tongue again and added: 

“We-soom your plo-ay.”

The bowler having exerted himself twenty-nine times, was a little tired and erratic, and the thirtieth ball hit Square-leg in the stomach.

“Wide,” announced Penny, without a smile.

The thirty-first ball, amid disorderly laughter, was caught by Point before it pitched.  The batsman meanwhile sat astride his bat:  he was the only person who seemed out of harm’s way.  Point held up the ball triumphantly and yelled to Penny:  “What’s that, umpire?”

“I think it would not be unreasonable,” answered Penny, “to call that a wide.”

This was a long sentence, and the fruit-ball shot out about half-way through.

Relieved of this confectionery, Penny proceeded to give a practical illustration of “How to bowl.”  I fear he intended to show off, and to send down a ball at express speed which should shatter the stumps.  At any rate, while the Suckers watched with breathless interest, he took a long run and let fly.  One thing in favour of Penny’s ball was that it went straight.  But it flew two feet over the head of the batsman, who flung himself upon his face.  It pitched opposite Long-stop.

“Run!” yelled the batsman, picking himself up. “Bye! Run, you fool!  Bye, idiot!” This was addressed to the batsman at the other end, who was swinging his bat like an Indian club and paying no attention to the game.  He pulled himself together on being appealed to, and ran, but it was evident that he could not reach his crease, as Long-stop had accidentally stopped the lightning-ball—­much to his own chagrin—­and was hurling it back to the wicket-keeper with all the enthusiasm of acute agony.

Our unhappy batsman did what excitable little boys always do—­flung in his bat and sprawled on the ground.  The bat struck the wicket-keeper, who had just knocked off the bails.  It hit him, so he said, on his bad place.

“Out,” ruled I.

“Over,” proclaimed Penny victoriously, as who should say:  “There!  I’ve got a man out for you”; and he retired honourably to the leg position, where he composed himself for a happy day-dream.

The new bowler at my end began by bowling swift.  The wicket-keeper jumped out of the way, as his mother would have wished him to do, and Long-stop shut his eyes and hoped for the best.  The batsman blindly waved his bat, and, inasmuch as the ball hit it, and rebounded some distance, called to his partner, who was mending the binding on his bat-handle.

“Will you come?  Osborne, you fool!  Yes. Yes.  YES!  No, no.  YE-E-ES!  No—­go back, you fool.  All right, come.  No-no-no.  O, Osborne, why didn’t you run that?  It was an easy one.”