Here are eleven men banded together with the one object of putting me out, and they are all so quiet and determined about it that I feel like a guilty thing as I stand there to defend my wicket.
The bowler starts again for his sinuous run, and again the ball whizzes from his hand.

I lift my bat in an attempt to strike it; it slips under it; there is a little "click" behind my back, and then the ball flies aloft, and I discover that my services at the wicket are no longer required.
So ended my first innings.

Happily for our side, some of the men who went in afterwards made a better show than we three unfortunates who had opened the ball had done.

Steel made forty, and two others about twenty each, which, added to the odds and ends contributed by the rest of our side, brought the Parkhurst score up to 102--72 runs behind our competitors.
There was great jubilation among the Westfield partisans, as their heroes entered on their second innings under such promising auspices, especially when the redoubtable Driver went in first with the bat which had wrought such wonders in the former innings.

There seemed every probability, too, of his repeating his late performance with even greater vigour, for the first ball which reached him he sent flying far and high right over the tents for six, a magnificent hit, which fairly deserved the praise it received, not from the Westfield fellows only, but from ours, who for a moment could forget their rivalry to admire a great exploit.