Біла пташка
The Cricket Match
Davidhadtakenoffhisblouseandrolleduphisshirt-sleeves,andhisteethwereset,soIknewhewouldbeginbysendingmedownsomefastones.
Hisdeliveryisunderarmandnotinelegant,buthesometimestriesaround-armball,whichIhaveseendoubleupthefielderatsquareleg.Hehasnotagoodlength,buthevarieshisactionbewilderingly,andhasoneespeciallyteasingballwhichfallsfromthebranchesjustasyouhavesteppedoutofyourgroundtolookforit.Itwasnot,however,withhisteaserthathebowledmethatday.Ihadnotchedathreeandtwosingles,whenhesentmedownamediumtofastwhichgotmeintwomindsandIplayedbacktoittoolate.Now,Iamseldomoutonareallygrassywicketforsuchameagrescore,andasDavidandIchangedplaceswithoutaword,therewasacheerylookonhisfacethatIfoundverygalling.Heranintomysecondballandcutitneatlytotheonforasingle,andoffmyfifthandsixthhehadtwoprettydrivesforthree,bothbehindthewicket.This,however,asIhoped,provedtheundoingofhim,forhenowhitoutconfidentlyateverything,andwithhisscoreatnineIbeathimwithmyshooter.
Thelookwasnowonmyface.
Iopenedmysecondinningsbytreatinghimwithuncommonrespect,forIknewthathislittlearmsoontiredifhewasunsuccessful,andthenwhenhesentmelooseonesIbangedhimtotherailings.WhatcaredIthoughDavid’slipsweretwitching.
