It is getting exciting.

The crowd hangs eagerly on the result of each ball.
Another two from my companion.

The Westfield fellows look nervously at the signal-board, as if by watching it they could make our figure grow less.

But, no! Another two, from my bat this time, and then a single.
Only two to win! The next ball gets past my comrade's bat, and skims within a hair's-breadth of his bails.
"Steady, now!" cries Steel, cheerily.

"Mind what you're at!" Steady it is.