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"Man in," said Gregory.

The new batsman took guard.

The disappearance of the candidate seemed to put new life into the Weary Willies. The Barlows, now at liberty to show their true form, worked like professionals. Both were evidently something more than mere club bowlers. I learned later that the fast brother was the J. E. Barlow who had only just missed his Blue at Cambridge in the previous summer. Three balls were enough for the first-wicket man. A beautifully disguised slow ball beat him all the way, and the last ball of the over accounted for his successor. Fifty for none had become fifty-two for three. The angry passions of the Weary Willies began to subside. A smile creased the face of mid-off, hitherto long and wan.

The slow Barlow got a man stumped in his next over, and the smile became a grin. With the score at seventy-three for six wickets a prolonged burst of applause announced the completion of the hatchet- faced man's fifty. All things considered, I suppose, it was a fine effort. But he had certainly had more than his share of loose balls. Every time one of the bowlers sent down a full-pitch to leg, he seemed to be there to receive it.

After the fall of the sixth wicket we struck a stratum of pure rabbits. The last four men failed to score, and the innings closed for eighty-nine. Hatchet Face, who had made sixty-two and carried his bat, received an ovation which eclipsed Mr. Morley-Davenport's. The Weary Willies joined in the applause. It certainly had been rather a fine performance. From this point I enjoyed the game thoroughly. I dismissed Jervis from my mind and concentrated myself on my innings. I had been in good form for some time that season, and the Stapleton bowling was poor. I was badly missed by the unhappy candidate when in the twenties, but after that could do nothing wrong. Everything came off for me. We passed their score with only two wickets down, and when stumps were drawn I was not-out a hundred and fifteen. And so home to bed, as Pepys puts it, feeling pleased with life.

I was pained on the Monday evening following the match by a strange post-card from Jervis. The post-card ran as follows: "I knew you would make a mess of it. You've settled our hash completely. Read the piece I have marked in the paper I am sending." I failed to follow him. True, Mr. Morley-Davenport had not had that dazzling success which one could have wished, but nobody could say that I had not done my best for him. It was not my fault if the man could not hit one ball in thirty. I was annoyed with Jervis.

The passage which he had marked in the paper, however, threw a certain amount of light on the matter. Under the heading, "The Stapleton Election," and the sub-heading, "An Interesting Incident," there appeared the following paragraph:-

"An amusing by-product of the keenly fought contest at Stapleton took place on Saturday at the New Recreation Grounds, the occasion being the annual match between the town and the Weary Willies Cricket Club. Mr. Morley-Davenport's partisans had intended to steal a clever march on their opponents by securing for their man a place in the town team -a strategic move which would undoubtedly have gone far towards deciding the result of the polling. At the eleventh hour, however, the secret leaked out, and the opposition camp speedily showed that they too could act. Through the courtesy of the popular and energetic skipper of the town eleven, Mr. Charley Summers, a place was also found in the ranks of the team for Mr. Morley-Davenport's rival. We need not inform our readers of Mr. Muddock's prowess on the links, but it was not so generally known that he was as able a wielder of the willow as of the niblick and brassey. His performance on Saturday electrified the large and enthusiastic crowd which had assembled to witness the match. With a true eye for the dramatic, Mr. Summers sent the two rivals in together to open the batting for their side. The comparison between the two 'gave furiously to think.' While Mr. Muddock hit the bowling to all corners of the field without once appearing to be in difficulties, Mr. Morley-Davenport proved that his cricket is as feeble and vacillating, as futile and ludicrous as are his politics. There was something painful . . . . For more than an hour . . . . finally dismissed for the majestic score of two runs. Mr. Muddock, on the other hand . . . . vigorous display . . . . forceful tactics . . . . In short . . . ."

A week later the papers were announcing that Mr. T. Muddock, the new M.P. for Stapleton, "yesterday took his seat for the first time in the House, being warmly cheered by the members of his party as he entered." A paragraph that appeared in one of the Society weeklies at about the same time had a special interest for me. "A marriage has been arranged," said the paragraph, "and will shortly take place, between John Edwin, eldest son of George Albamont Barlow, of The Mote, Shrewsbury, and Alice Catherine Maud, only daughter of Thomas Muddock, M.P., The Manor, Stapleton. Mr. Barlow," continued the writer, "is a keen cricketer, and narrowly missed playing for Cambridge at Lord's last season." Jervis, who has declined to join the Weary Willies on their Devonshire tour, still sticks to it that the whole thing was my fault. Well-I mean-what can you do with a man like that?