Your pet fast bumpy ones, wide of the wicket,
Perhaps look showy, but they are not Cricket.
_Bowler._ Oh, bother! You're the crossest of old frumps.
Why, bless you, SMITH, I stood behind the stumps
Long before you put gloves on!
_Wicket-keeper._ I dare say,
But when we took you in our team to play
'Twas for your bowling. I don't want to scoff
At chance bad luck, but you have not come off!
Now, BALFOUR doesn't give "no balls" and "wides,"
Or make it hot for knuckles, shins, and sides,
As you've been doing lately. "Extras" mount
When you are bowling, and your blunders count
To our opponents,--not to mention _me_.
Although two broken fingers, a bruised knee,
A chin knocked out of shape, and one lost tooth
Are trying little items, to tell truth.
_Bowler._ Hang it! If you're so sweet on ARTHUR B.,
Try him next Season, but don't chivey _me_!
[_Goes off huffily._
_Wicket-keeper_ (_to Umpire_). I take them without flinching. Umpire,
don't I?
I'll do my duty to my Team and County
As long as I've a knuckle in its place;
I have not many--look! And see my face!
No, when the game's renewed, JOKIM must try
To keep the wicket clearly in his eye,
Not the poor wicket-keeper, or you'll see
"Retired, hurt" will be the end of Me!
* * * * *
AN OLD RAILWAY AND A NEW LINE.
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