‘Well, I’ll look at the paper tomorrow, and see. He is sure to be playing.’
But though I looked all through the cricket page, I could not find him.
That was Wednesday. On Thursday, my brother Bob arrived from London, bringing with him a friend of his, a Mr Townend, who said he was an artist, but I had never seen any of his pictures. He explained this at dinner. He said that he spent the winter thinking out schemes for big canvases, and in the summer he was too busy playing cricket to be able to get to work on them.
‘I say, we’ve been up at Lord’s today,’ he said. He was a long, pleasant-looking young man, with a large smile and unbrushed hair. ‘Good game, rather. Er — um — Gentlemen’ll have all their work cut out to win, I think.’
‘Ah!’ said father. ‘Gentlemen v. Players, eh? My young nephew Willie is playing. Been doing well for Oxford this season — W. B. Riddell.’
‘Oh, I say, really? Good field. Players batted first. Fiery wicket, but it’ll wear well, I think. Er — um — Johnny Knox was making them get up at the nursery end rather, but Tyldesley seems to be managing ’em all right. Made fifty when we left. Looked like stopping. By the way, friend of yours was playing for the pros — Billy Batkins, the Sussex man. Bob was telling me that you knocked the cover off him down here last summer.
Father beamed.
‘Oh!’ he said. ‘Good deal of luck in it, of course. I managed to make a few.’
‘Forty-nine not out,’ I said, ‘and a splendid innings, too.’
‘Oh, I say, really?’ said Mr Townend, stretching out a long, thin hand in the direction of the strawberries. ‘Takes some doing, that. You know, they only put him into the team at the last moment. But if anyone’s going to win the match for them, it’ll be he. Just suit him, the wicket ought to, on the last day.’
‘Regular Day of Judgment for the Gentlemen,’ said Bob. ‘Somebody ought to run up to town and hold Bill’s hand while he bats, to encourage him.’
I said: ‘Father, mayn’t I go up to London tomorrow? You know Aunt Edith said only the other day that she wished you would let me. And I should like to see Bill bat.’
Father looked disturbed. Any sudden proposal confuses him. And I could see that he was afraid that if I went, he might have to go too. And he hates London.
I didn’t say anything more just then; but after dinner, when Bob and Mr Townend were playing billiards, I went to his study and asked him again.
‘I should love to go,’ I said, sitting on the arm of his chair. ‘There’s really no need for you to come, if you don’t want to. Saunders could go with me.’
‘It’s uncommonly short notice for your aunt, my dear,’ said father doubtfully.
‘She won’t mind. She’s always got tons of room. And she said come whenever I liked. And Bill would be awfully pleased, wouldn’t he?’
‘Only make him nervous.’
I said: ‘Oh, no. He’d like it. Well, may I?’
I kissed father on the top of the head, and he said I might.
So next day up I went with Saunders, feeling like a successful general.
I got there just before dinner. I found my cousin Bill rather depressed. He had come back from Lord’s, where the Gentlemen had been getting the worst of it. The Players had made three hundred and thirty something, and the Gentlemen had made two hundred and twenty-three. Then the Players had gone in again and made two hundred and six, which wasn’t good, Bill said, but left the Gentlemen more than three hundred behind.
‘And we lost one wicket tonight,’ he said, ‘for nine; and the pitch is getting beastly. We shall never make the runs.’
‘How many did you make, Bill?’
‘Ten. Run out. And I particularly wanted to get a few. Just like my luck.’
I asked Aunt Edith afterwards why Bill had been so keen on making runs in this match more than any other, and she said it was because it was the biggest match he had ever played in. But Bill told me the real reason before breakfast the next morning. He was engaged, and she had come to watch him play.