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Laying aside whatever implement of his craft he
happened to be using, he would get up and corne to
the door in his protuberant apron, and when interro-
gated about "the tram for to-morrow", "Let me
sec/' he would reply in ;i gravely complacent voice,
"Let me see, there's Mr. Richard Puttridge; and
Myself; my brother Alfred; Tom Dixon; Mr. Jack
Ban-hard; young Bob Ellis—and did I say Myself?"—
and so on, counting the names on his stubby fingers,
and sometimes inserting uancl I think I said Myself"
again toward the end of the recital. But his sense of
his own importance was justified when he had a bat
in his hand. No one could gainsay that.

Having, so to speaks received the freedom of the
Flower Show from this worthy man, there was nothing
more for me to do until the rest of the players had
arrived. Al present t here wasn't a cricketer to be seen
on the small but well-kept ground, and it seemed un-
likely that the match would start before noon. It was
now a little after eleven and a cloudless day. Sitting
in the. shadow of a chestnut tree I watched the exer-
tions of u museular iiiau with a mallet. He was putting
up a "coconut shy'1 in the adjoining meadow, where
*a steam roundabout, some boat-swings, a shooting
gallery, and other recreative facilities were in readi-
ness for the afternoon. On the opposite side of the
cricket field had been erected a Tea Tent, which
would contain such spectators as were prevented, by
their social status, from shying at coconuts or turning
almost upside-down in a boat-swing. The ground
sloped from the Tea Tent to the side where I was
sitting (twenty-iive summers ago), so that the genteel
onlookers wove enabled to feel themselves perceptibly
above the rest of the proceedings.

Behind the Tent was a thick thorn hedge; beyond