The next ball went for two more, and I could hear a cheer from the tent, which made me feel very valiant.

I glanced to the signal- board; our score was ninety-six, only twenty-seven to win! Why should not I be able to hold out until Steel made up the figure, and so defeat Westfield by four wickets?
At any rate I would try; and I sent my next ball for a single.
Then it was Steel's turn to bat.

Of course he would send it flying.
Horrors! He has missed it! A deafening shout proclaims that his glorious innings is at an end, and I feel like an orphan as I watch him, with his bat under his arm, quitting the wicket at which he had put together sixty-six runs in as fine a style as any player ever did.

It was good to hear the applause which welcomed him back to the tent.
But what was to become of us?
Here were twenty-six runs to get, and the four weakest batsmen of our side to play.

However, one can but do his best.
So I played as carefully as I could, becoming gradually accustomed to the bowling, and knocking an occasional one or two on to the score.