The heat became more and more
oppressive, and several of the Cunjee men were tiring, including plump
little Dr. Anderson, who stuck to his work as wicket-keeper pluckily--to
the unconcealed anxiety of his wife. His reward came when a hot return
from the field by Wally gave him a chance of stumping one of the Mulgoa
cracks. But the enthusiasm was only momentary; the game was considered,
even by the most sanguine small boy of Cunjee, to be "all over bar
shouting."
Jim had been bowling for some time from one end with fair results. The
batsmen certainly took fewer liberties with him, and he managed to
account for three of them for a comparatively low average. He had
allowed himself to become anxious, which is a bad thing for a bowler
when the score is creeping up and the batsmen are well set. Wally
watched his chum with some anxiety--there was none of the fire in his
bowling that had so often brought down the ground in a School match.
"Wish he's wake up," said Wally to himself. "I'd like a chance to talk
to him."
The chance came when the field crossed over, disposed anew to harry a
left-handed batsman. Jim came over with his long, swinging walk, his
head a little bent. He started a little at his friend's voice.
"You'll snore soon!" said Wally, incisively.
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