When he is one of a fishing- party, and everybody but he is ready, he keeps them all waiting till their patience is completely exhausted, while he gets together his tackle, laces his boots, and selects his flies.
"Come on! look alive!" is the cry that is for ever being hurled at him, "All serene, old fellow; what's the hurry ?" is his invariable reply.
I well remember the first time I made Ned's acquaintance, and I will recall the incident, as giving a fair specimen of the fellow and his peculiarity.
It was a big cricket match, the afternoon was far advanced, the light was getting uncertain, and time was almost up.

Our school's ninth wicket had fallen, and yet there were five runs to get to win, which we could just do, if our last man in was quick.
"Now, Ned!" calls out our captain, coming up to the tent; "look sharp in." Ned coolly sat down on the bench in our tent and proceeded to put on a pad.
"Never mind about that! there's no time," said our captain impatiently, "and they are bowling slow." "Oh, it won't take a minute," says Ned, discovering he had been putting the pad on upside down, and proceeding to undo it.

We stood round in feverish impatience, and the minute consumed in putting on those miserable leg-fenders seemed like a year.
Ned himself, however, did not seem in the least flurried by our excitement.
"Pity they don't make these things fasten with springs instead of straps," he observed, by way of genial conversation.
Oh, how we chafed and fumed! "_Will_ you look sharp, if you're going to play at all ?" howls our captain.
"All _right_, old chap; I can't be quicker than I am; where are the gloves ?" The gloves are brought like lightning, but not like lightning put on.
No, the india-rubber gauntlets must needs be drawn with the greatest care and deliberation over his fingers, and even then require a good deal of shifting to render them comfortable.

Then he was actually (I believe) going to take them off in order to roll up his shirt sleeves, had not two of us performed that office for him with a rapidity which astonished him.
"Upon my word, this is too bad," says our captain, flinging down the bat he was holding, and stamping with vexation.

"We might as well give the whole thing up!" "I'm awfully sorry," drawled Ned, in an injured tone; "but how could I help it?
I'm ready now." "Ready! I should hope you were.