THE CRICKET MATCH
jectedly away while another man came to take his place. She could scarcely believe her eyes.
"Why was that?" she cried furiously. "I saw that wicket keeper tip off the bale himself."
"Stumped him," said a moody voice behind her. "Giles stepped outside his crease."
Virginia turned quickly and it was several moments before she could see the field again through the tears dancing in her eyes. Her sympathy now was all for Giles; she could guess what his feelings were to have thus failed at the critical point. A voice from the ground beside the drag roused her.
"Look. … Look there! Gad! But isn't he a brute!"
Virginia winked the moisture from her eyes and glanced at the field; as she did so a murmur rolled around among the spectators and then broke into a cheer. Dessalines had gone to the bat; the beautiful catch which he had made in the previous inning, together with the confident and cheerful air with which he now carried himself in the face of defeat, had inspired the dejected spectators with new hope.
The Haytian was a grotesque figure; his creamy-white shirt was open at the collar and showed a neck as strong and supple and ebony as that of a black panther; his sleeves were rolled above the elbows, and, as he alternately tightened and relaxed his hold upon the handle of the bat, the lithe, sinuous muscles glided one over the other in a manner which suggested serpents swimming beneath the surface of a pool. The long, white trousers which he wore did not altogether conceal the slight outward arch of his legs.
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