TOM BROWN'S
"Oh! well played!—bravo, Johnson!" shouted Arthur, dropping his bat and clapping furiously, and Tom joined in with a "Bravo, Johnson!" which might have been heard at the chapel.
"Eh! what was it? I didn't see," inquired the master; "they only got one run, I thought?"
"No, but such a ball, three-quarters length and coming straight for his leg bail. Nothing but that turn of the wrist could have saved him, and he drew it away to leg for a safe one. Bravo, Johnson!"
"How well they are bowling, though," said Arthur; "they don't mean to be beat, I can see."
"There, now," struck in the master, "you see that's just what I have been preaching this half-hour. The delicate play is the true thing. I don't understand cricket, so I don't enjoy those fine draws which you tell me are the best play, though when you or Raggles hit a ball hard away for six I am as delighted as any one. Don't you see the analogy?"
"Yes, sir," answered Tom, looking up roguishly, "I see; only the question remains whether I should have got most good by understanding Greek particles or cricket thoroughly. I'm such a thick, I never should have had time for both."
"I see you are an incorrigible," said the master, with a chuckle; "but I refute you by an example. Arthur there has taken in Greek and cricket too."
"Yes, but no thanks to him; Greek came natural to him. Why, when he first came I remember he used to read Herodotus for pleasure as I did Don Quixote, and couldn't have made a false concord if he'd tried ever so hard—and then I looked after his cricket."
"Out! Bailey has given him out—do you see, Tom?" cries Arthur. "How foolish of them to run so hard."
"Well, it can't be helped; he has played very well. Whose turn is it to go in?"
"I don't know; they've got your list in the tent."
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