Cricket with the Graces

“It was delightful,” said Snooker, with a sigh of satisfaction; “but, after all, there is no doubt in my mind that Angelina was the nicest girl of the lot. There is aye ne sais quoi about Angelina, if I may so express it, that would have given me intense pleasure thirty years ago.” He sighed again, this time not with satisfaction.

We were talking discursively about things in general after dinner rather late in the evening, and unfortunately I knew nothing original to say concerning Angelina. Although, as eminent orators are aware, it is difficult to keep silent when one has nothing to say, I performed that feat with a cartain measure of success. There was no applause, of course. Our grandest efforts are not those which cause people to shriek at us in the market-place.

But, started on a favorite theme, Snooker continued to make the running in merry style. “What I like to see in the autumn of my life,” he remarked, solemnly, “is the dear girls sporting on the greensward with music in their hearts. When they are pretty and do it well, the spectacle is exhilarating. If it were possible for me to fancy myself a young man again, do you know” —he turned upon me suddenly—“what would be the exciting cause ? ”

“The dear girls sporting on the greensward with joyous pants,” I replied, blushing.

“Exactly,” he said, “and they are beginning to do it in a thorough and sportsmanlike manner. Nothing is sacred to them now if they wish to kick their heels up in the open air, and they will play all games and pastimes. Golf they have annexed, and cycling, and hockey; some of them hunt and shoot and fish; while, in our quiet village, now—well, what do you think, old chap ?”

I scarcely knew what to think at such a crisis. When Snooker is speaking rapidly on a subject that appeals vividly to his imagination, it is wise to think as little as possible. So, after a pause, I said, as if wandering in my mind —

“Kiss-in the ring was a popular open-air game in the village before I left it for obvious reasons.” I winked at him with rapture. “ Now, you can take it from me, my friend, that if, in my bright jeunesse, I had been induced to join in the festive exercise of Kist-in-and-out of the-ring, catch as catch can and go as you please while excited, my succeeding years might have been less pessimistic. Kisses, like other blisses, have to be paid for; not necessarily in cash at the time, but afterwards.”

Pleased by these axiomatic phrases, Snooker expressed his sympathy with me in respect to my suffering of the blighting experiences reviewed. He mumbled something to the effect that he had gone through the same himself, and that if he had his time to do over again he would not miss a single item of such fun for untold gold.

“We have only to live once,” he added, genially, “and what comes after for us will probably not be enjoyment. Even in my most blithesome moments I have never been able to induce myself to fancy that a permanent association with the worms will bring me pleasure.”

“But what’s the new game in the village?” I asked, to change the subject, for the mortuary reflections of Snooker are not inspiriting

“The dear girls have begun to play cricket with us,” he replied. “This is the first season in which they have taken up the game seriously, but now they mean business. And” —he smiled youthfully—“I’m coaching ’em.”

“When you want an assistant, send for me,” was my enthusiastic reply. “My time is my own in the afternoons, and I like to make the best of it. What I don’t know about coaching is not worth communicating to a girl of considerable personal attractions. When do you play your next match?”

That was the question I put to Snooker in a somewhat eager voice, whereupon he imparted a great deal of interesting information concerning the progress of ladies’ cricket in his pastoral solitude. All the nice girls there, he said —those who can move themselves on the grass, and are not afraid of the ball because it is hard —have taken up the game, and play it with a vast amount of enthusiasm. It is no use asking what next, for we shall not know until it is all over.

Then he gave me some particulars about their first match, which was a funny one. An equal number of ladies and gentlemen on each side, it appeared, took part in the game, the gentlemen batting left-handed and bowling underhand except to each other, while their fair antagonists took all the advantages they could secure by legitimate rules, with others not specified in the contract. One cannot easily argue on points of detail and organisation with a’ beautiful damsel, even if her face is rather red all over from heat and her glorious ankles are displayed with provoking abandon.

The ladies had been having plenty of practice, of course, prior to the match. Some had learned how to throw without squealing or disturbing the symmetry of their corsets, although in the outfield they displayed a lamentable tendency to squat on the ball when they reached it instead of throwing it in sharply to the wicket-keeper. Others, when the ball was hit in their direction, put their hands up to their back hair and ran away from it at their top speed until they fell over a tuft of grass or an ancient mole-hill with piercing shrieks, and were rescued with suitable tenderness by loving hands of the male persuasion. Truly, the game seemed to open up infinite possibilities in the’ way of thrilling adventure.

Such, at any rate, was my idea about it, and so I said (with some severity of aspect) to Snooker: “No flirting, eh, while the game is in progress? No giddiness, I trust, in the long grass?”

“Well, that’s what I’m going to tell you about in connection with our first match,” he replied. “It was not without its eventful episodes. I had, as mentioned, been coaching the ladies some weeks, and Angelina, as also stated, was the flower of the flock. She could really run, don’t you know —she did not flop about or waddle; it was a treat to see her dash up the field after the ball with flying skirts; and she was able to hold a catch. I had great hopes of Angelina.”

“She was pretty, no doubt, with small feet and ankles that were miracles of loveliness,” I remarked.

“She was sufficiently comely. She was playing in the match, in which I acted as umpire, and had an even tenner with young Snuffles, who was captain of the opposition, that his side lost. You know Snuffles, of course. He has plenty of money and nothing to do. His mind has never grown up beyond the infantile stage. When he speaks you. marvel whether he said what he meant to say at first, or forget it at the last moment and thought of something else quite different; He is a nice man to bet with when one happens to be short of ready money.

“I had been coaching dear Angelina assiduously, and had taught her how to cut and play the ball with a straight bat. She did not desert her wicket as the leather approached ; she had no fear in her composition, could run like a gazelle with an empty stomach, laugh like an angel, and, desiring to win my tenner, I told her, when she went in to bat, to be careful how she played Snuffles’ sneaks. He has a very insidious sneak.”

“Yes,” I murmured, incoherently; “it swerves in the air, no doubt, and curves outward from the pitch. There’s nothing like a good sneak if you don’t know how to play it, and are backing yourself for more than you can pay except in remote instalments.”

“You had better let me tell the story,” retorted my friend, gravely; “we can’t both win when playing at the same game, even if neither is trying; and your knowledge of cricket seems to be like your knowledge of many other things —chiefly ridiculous. I stood a good chance to win my money when Angelina went in to bat. She was full of confidence, and took up her position at the wicket with an easy grace that charmed all hearts, especially mine. Snuffles was bowling from my end, with the perspiration running down his face, while my gracious neophyte kept cutting and driving him all over the field. The score gradually mounted; my enjoyment was unbounded. That tenner, I thought, was as good as pouched.

“Then, infuriated by his want of success, Snuffles sent down one of his fastest sneaks, and somehow Angelina missed it. He turned to me and appealed for leg before. ‘Not out,’ I said, of course, and he almost wept. ‘Didn’t you see her leg?” he groaned, and I said, ‘No, certainly not —and you ought to have been looking the other way.’ He blushed guiltily, and went on bowling with a lack of his former vigor. ‘Pitch ’em up,’ I advised him, in an indifferent voice, for the game looked by no means a good thing for me even then —‘ pitch ’em up, my lad, and go for catches ; you can’t bowl this young lady if you stop here a month and send her a creeper every time.’

“He was foolish enough to take my advice, and thereupon the game became very lively. Carefully coached as she had been by me, Angelina knew what to do with the easy half-volleys. She spanked them all over the ground while keeping them consistently on the carpet; there was no chance of a catch at any time. It was delightful to watch the artistic manner in which she knocked the bowling about, especially when you had a tenner on the game and felt that the money (which would be useful) was as good as in your pocket. Women often—”

“No doubt,” I interrupted, anxious to get on with the story; “And you might say the same about men. But that is not the point just now. Did you win?”

“Please don’t bustle me as I am approaching the last fence with nothing in hand,” replied the raconieur, weakly. “We only wanted four to win and three to tie, when young Snuffles, in a state of desperation, sent up a short-pitched one to leg, just the sort for Angelina. “’Bang it,’ I screamed, and how did she bang it! —well, the hit was a perfect beauty. She sent the ball skimming along the ground to long leg, where a thick awkward, ill favored girl was fielding; and she made a wild effort to stop it, instead of which she fell on it, and, after getting up and rubbing herself, could not find it anywhere.

“‘Lost ball!’ was shrieked by the other players; I said to Angelina, ‘ Run ’em out, my dear—we only want four; ’ and while she was doing so Snuffles darted across the ground to the uncomely damsel at long leg, who was still looking for the ball amongst her clothes. ‘Where is it?’ he hissed, and she only shook herself. ‘ Tilt her up,’ I called to him, and upon my word he was proceeding to do so in his excitement, and had placed his rude hands upon her with that object in view, when the ball seemed to come from somewhere, but before it could be thrown in the game was won.”

“Glorious!” I said. “And you got the tenner?”

“That was not the worst for Snuffles,” continued my friend. “Amongst the spectators of the match were the papa and mamma of the unprepossessing nymph upon whom he had placed in public a sacrilegious grasp. They knew their business, and had a private interview with Snuffles. The result was that his engagement to his unlovely long-leg was announced soon after; and when I congratulated him upon the auspicious event he did not seem to be hilarious.

“‘She has money and good connections,’ I told him; ‘while her appearance, if not bewitching, cannot be called repulsive in a fair light.’ Then I asked him what he wanted.

“‘I wanted Angelina,’ he said, with a groan, after giving me my tenner. And so you see, dear boy,” added Snooker, with his sweetest smile, “what comes of women playing cricket with the men.”

G.G.

New Zealand Illustrated Sporting & Dramatic Review, 29 September 1898