. Fallowfield's
defeat - should such be the result of the contest - he knows now will be laid at
his door. Five men who have bowled at the indomitable Beckleyans think the same.
Albeit they are Britons, it abashes them. They are not the men they were. Their
bowling is as the bowling of babies; and see! Nick, who gave the catch, and
pretends he did it out of commiseration for Fallowfield, the ball has flown from
his bat sheer over the booth. If they don't add six to the score, it will be the
fault of their legs. But no: they rest content with a fiver. Yet more they mean
to do, and cherish their wind. Success does not turn the heads of these Britons,
as it would of your frivolous foreigners.
    And now small boys (who represent the Press here) spread out from the
marking-booth, announcing foremost, and in larger type, as it were, quite in
Press style, their opinion - which is, that Fallowfield will get a jolly good
hiding; and vociferating that Beckley is seventy-nine ahead, and that Nick Frim,
the favourite of the field, has scored fifty-one to his own cheek. The boys are
boys of both villages: but they are British boys - they adore prowess. The
Fallowfield boys wish that Nick Frim would come and live on their side; the boys
of Beckley rejoice in possessing him. Nick is the wicket-keeper of the Beckley
eleven; long-limbed, wiry, keen of eye. His fault as a batsman is, that he will
be a slashing hitter. He is too sensible of the joys of a grand spanking hit. A
short life and a merry one, has hitherto been his motto.
    But there were reasons for Nick's rare display of skill. That woman may have
the credit due to her (and, as there never was a contest of which she did not
sit at the springs, so is she the source of all superhuman efforts exhibited by
men), be it told that Polly Wheedle is on the field; Polly, one of the upper
housemaids of Beckley Court; Polly, eagerly courted by Fred Linnington, humbly
desired by Nick Frim - a pert and blooming maiden - who, while her suitors
combat hotly for an undivided smile, improves her holiday by instilling similar
unselfish aspirations into the breasts of others.
    Between his enjoyment of society and the melancholy it engendered in his
mind by reflecting on him the age and decrepitude of his hat, Mr. John Raikes
was doubtful of his
