Nine for 115!
The tension was on bowlers and batsmen alike now--all save Dan Billings,
whose calmness was unimpaired. He greeted the tenth man cheerfully--and
the tenth man was Murty O'Toole, very hot and nervous, and certainly
the most miserable man on the ground as he faced "Masther Jim's"
bowling, and knew that the alien hopes of Mulgoa depended on him. Out
in the open a Mulgoa man shrugged his shoulders, remarking, "He won't
try!" and was promptly attacked furiously by three small boys of
Cunjee, who pelted him with clods and abuse from a safe distance. Murty
looked at Jim with a little half-apologetic gesture, and Jim grinned.
"Play up, Murty, old chap!" he said.
It was not in vain that he had schooled the stockman in the paddock at
Billabong. He sent down a treacherous ball, and Murty met it and played
it boldly for two, amid Mulgoan shrieks. Two to tie and three to
win--no, one fewer now, for the Irishman had turned a swift ball to leg,
and only quick fielding had prevented a boundary. A hundred and
seventeen! Murty heaved a sigh of relief as he leaned on his bat at the
bowler's end and glanced across at Jim.
"Praises be, 'twill be Billings to hit it, an' not O'Toole!" he
muttered. "I have put me fut in it sufficient f'r wance!"
The ball left Jim's hand with a whizz, and Billings stepped out to meet
it.
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