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His demeanour when keeping wicket for his own parish
was both jaunty and magisterial, and he was renowned
for the strident and obstreperous bellow to which he
gave vent when he was trying to bluff a village umpire
into giving a batsman out "caught behind". He was
also known for his habit of genially engaging the
batsman in conversation while the bowler was intent
on getting him out,, and I have heard of at least one
occasion when he tried this little trick on the wrong
man. The pestered batsman rounded on the rather
foxy-faced clergyman with, "I bin playing cricket
nigh on thirty years, and parson or no parson, I take
the liberty of telling you to hold your blasted gab."

But I hurriedly dismissed this almost unthinkable
anecdote when he turned his greenish eyes in my
direction and hoped, in hearty and ingratiating tones,
that I was "going to show them a little crisp Ballboro'

The brisk clatter of knives and forks is now well
started, and the barman is busy at his barrel. Con-
versation, however, is scanty, until Tom Seamark,
who is always glad of a chance to favour the company
with a sentiment, clears his throat impressively,
elevates his tankard, fixes Jack Barchard with his
gregarious regard, and remarks, "I should like to say,
sir, how very pleased and proud we all are to see you
safe Jome again in our midst." Jack Barchard has
recently returned from the Boor War where he served
with the Yeomanry. The "sentiment" is echoed from
all parts of the table, and glasses are raised to him
with a gruff "Good 'calth, sir," or "Right glad to
see you back, Mr. Barchard." The returned warrior
receives their congratulations with the utmost em-
barrassment. Taking a shy sip at my ginger-beer, I
think how extraordinary it is to be sitting next to a

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