Cheer Boys Cheer: The Boys' Journal, No. 62 — page 21: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

36 PAGES. friends there; but there were two or three of his type, and one of these hastened to enlighten him—not only as to what had happened, but as to what had been. said. His scowl showed plainly the view he tcok of matters. “What are you doing here? You’re not in the twenty-two list,” he said suddenly, turning to Gale. It Gs meant as a flank attack upon Quinthred, no doubt. But Quinthred was not to be drawn. He merely smiled, and left the Hurri- cane to spéak for himself. “True, O prophet!’ answered Gale. ‘‘I am not in the list, be- cause it hasn’t been made out yet. May I beg for your gracious per- mission to practise with the twenty- two? I may mention that I already have Whybrow’s.” There was a roar of laughter at that. Gale was putting on pads now. The bully gritted his teeth fiercely. ““T don’t know what Whybrow thinks, but I should say the junior nets are about your form,” he snarled. “ Maybe—maybe not. Anyway, I don’t believe you can bowl me,” answered Gale blithely. He walked into a vacant net, and the Rooshian snatched up a ball. Few there would have been sur- prised if Gale’s wicket had fallen to the first straight one; and Gawler did get a straight one in at times, and at a rare pace, too. : Watching him, Quinthred decided that he did not actually throw. His delivery was a peculiar one, but not, to the new fellow’s thinking, unfair. The rest were watching Gale. He had not exaggerated the improve- ment made in his play during the last holidays. A fellow who has cricket in him, as Gale had, may come on a lot in a very short time. The Hurricane had taken advantage of a fair and dry April, too, and had put in some useful practice at home. “When did you learn to cut, Hurricane?” asked Hollis-Browne. ** Last week,” replied Gale gravely. “Talk about a bushel!” said Marne. ‘Nobody did,’ answered Browne secundus. “Ass! He means the Hurricane’s keeping this dark,” his elder brother said. ‘Then he should say so. I’m not nuts on parables and poems.” “ Aren’t you going to bowl to him, Quinthred?” inquired Whybrow. «‘Three are enough, I fancy,” was the answer. “Oh, if that’s all,” said Browne primus, and chucked the new fellow the ball. But even against his chum Gale shaped well, and Quinthred was not only the best bowler he had to meet, but had the additional difficulty of being quite new to him. “You’re booked for the twenty- two, Gale,’ said Whybrow, at the end of a ten-minute spell, during which the Hurricane had only once been bowled. 2 ‘Why don’t you say the eleven, skipper?” asked Hollis-Browne, and Gale flushed, and for once found no words, while Whybrow smiled. “Your turn, Quinthred,” said the captain. Everyone was anxious to see what the new fellow could do. If he was as good a bat as bowler, Whybrow would have a serious rival for the honour of being Windlesthorpe’s best all-rounder. And he could bat, there was no mistaking that. Very upright in stance, very straight of bat, stylish, powerful, versatile, he met all the bowlers who attacked him easily and confidently. His drives were all along the carpet; his cuts travelled like greased lightning; he dealt in masterly fashion with the bumpy ones, and hooked the short ones hard and with certainty. He was especially severe on_ the Rooshian, whose temper was making his bowling worse than usual. Some of the balls he sent down did not pitch halfway, and these Quinthred treated with the contempt they de- served. Not a ball within inches of being straight got past him, and he seemed to be able to score freely off all kinds of bowling, with a special partiality for the Rooshian’s short- pitched stuff, and the Hurricane’s weird attempts at the googly. The twenty-two nets were on the edge of Big Field, and along the hedge behind them ran a path lead- ing over the moor. Quinthred’s sharp ears caught the sound of a voice that struck a chord in his memory. “* Arrah now, ye baste, come out of it, will ye?” it said. The batsman turned, and saw the shaggy head of a rough Irish terrier thrust through the hedge. A dog—and that voice! Surely—— A nasty thud sounded. A full- pitch had struck him just over the heart. “Tdiot! Couldn’t you turned his head away?” Marne. ““T didn’t,” answered Dunn. “TIT say, Quinthred, I’m _frightfully sorry, really!” ‘«Tt’s all right,” Quinthred replied, stooping to pick up his bat. For the moment he had felt like faint- ing; but the feeling passed to some extent. “Had you better go on?” asked Why brow. ““T’ll finish my spell,’ was the reply. “Tm all right.” He was not quite all right. A slow from Gale lowered his leg stump, and the next ball sent down was put up feebly in the air. While it had not yet descended, Gawler rushed up to the crease, and literally threw his hall at the bats- man’s head! Up went Quinthred’s bat to shield his face. But his customary quick- ness had deserted him. He was too late. The ball took him full on the left temple, and he dropped to the ground like one shot! : see hed snapped (Lo te continued next Tuesday.) EVERY TUESDAY. ONE PENNY. 21 AFTER YOU HAVE LAUGHED OVER THESE LITTLE STORIES, PASS THEM ON TO YOUR FRIENDS; On the Instalment System. They were experts in many things, but chiefly in the art of bragging. And at the moment they were discussing their own wonderful feats as vocalists. ““ Why,” said the American, blowing rings of smoke from his cigar, ‘‘ the first time I sang in public the audi- ence simply showered me _ with bouquets. Bless you, there were enough to start a flower-shop !” “ Waith, an’ I can beat you!’ cried the Irishman. ‘The first toime I sang was at an open-air concert, and, ° be- gorra, the audience were that de- loighted they presented me with a house, they did!” “A house! You must be off your head!” interrupted the American scoffingly. “Not at all,’ answered Pat. ‘I tell ye they gave me a house—but. it was a brick at a toime!” Doing cu Best. Murphy’s wife was ill. So Murphy —for he was only newly wed—decided, on completing his day’s work, to try to make himself generally useful in the house. Accordingly, he bought a pound of bacon. and a pound of soap, and set about—so he thought—to prepare a savoury meal for his ailing wife. The latter, however, even on her bed of sickness, detected the ensuing smell, and sniffed at it wonderingly. Then, as the odour grew stronger and more unpleasant, she hastened to the kitchen as quickly as she could, and— “ What are you doing, Murphy?” she inquired. ‘“Cookin’ bacon,’? came the blunt reply. ‘Bacon, man! Why, that’s soap!” ‘Then, bedad,” exclaimed the Irish- man, “I must have washed me shirt wid the bacon!” Kind Little Arthur. “Hey! What are ye doing there?” Little Arthur was caught. He was up the pear-tree, his pockets full of luscious fruit, while below stood a bull- terrier, trying wildly and frantically to reach him. And the owner of tree and dog had just come upon the scene. ‘“ What d’ye want up my pear-tree, young feller?’ asked the farmer again, in gruff and angry tones. Little Arthur thought furiously for a few moments. Then he said: ‘“ P-p-please, sir, t-t-trying to teach zou d-d-dog to stand on his h-h-hind egs!’ The Doctor: ‘‘ You understand, don’t you, that this is only to be used ex- ternally?” The Patient’s Wife: ‘Sure, sir, I allus makes him get out o bed to drink it!” 1 a | NS SI all a GComichooks. com