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A cricket mannerism.

A writer commented recently in an article in Punch on the advantage to a cricketer of some harmless mannerism, giving as an instance Mr. P.F.  WARNER’S habit of hitching up the left side of his trousers and patting the ground seven times with his bat.  This homely touch reminded me irresistibly of Rankin.  Not that Rankin resembles Mr. Warner even remotely in any other way.  But Rankin has a mannerism, one which is fairly harmless, too, as a general rule.  If on one occasion, of which I will tell you, it had unfortunate results, there was then a combination of circumstances for which Rankin was not entirely responsible.  That much I now feel myself able to admit.  At the time I could see nothing good about Rankin at all.

Rankin resides in our village of Littleborough, and is by trade what is known as a jobbing gardener.  On Thursdays he is my gardener, on Wednesdays Mrs. Dobbie’s gardener, and so on.  On Saturday afternoons he plays cricket.  Or at least he dresses in (among other garments) a pair of tight white flannel trousers and a waistcoat, and joins the weekly game.

Recently we met in deadly combat the neighbouring village of Smallwick.  Away into the unchronicled past runs the record of these annual contests.  Each village hints that it has gained the greater number of victories; each is inclined in its heart to believe that the other one has actually done so—­because, as I suppose, the agony of defeat leaves a more lasting impression than the joy of victory.  But I digress.  We have not even got to Rankin’s mannerism yet.

Rankin’s mannerism is the habit of plunging his hands into his trouser pockets.  A very ordinary one, you will say; but not when carried to the extent to which Rankin carries it.  It is useless for Rankin to field at short slip, for instance.  The only time he did so a catch struck him sharply in the lower chest (and fell to the ground, of course) before he had time to take his hands out of his pockets.  When he is batting he crams one hand into his pocket between each delivery.  As he wears a large batting glove and his trousers are very tight (as I mentioned before) this is a matter of some difficulty.  In fact we usually attribute the smallness of his scores to its unsteadying effect.

How he ever survived five years of military service without being shot for persistently carrying his hands in his pockets while on parade, to the detriment of good order and military discipline, I can never understand.  Surely some Brass-hat, inspecting Rankin’s regiment, must have noticed that Rankin’s hands were in his pockets when he should have been presenting arms?  I can only presume that they all loved Rankin, and love is blind.  Well, he is quite a good chap.  I like him myself.

We now come to the day of the Smallwick v. Littleborough match.

Smallwick lost the toss and went out to field, and, as one of their players had not arrived, Rankin went with them as a substitute.