particular positions in the field. Every one will agree that the position to take first is that of
THE WICKET-KEEPER,
for it is at once the most important and the most difficult. Later on, in the chapter on Bowling, I have tried to show the close connection that should exist between the bowler and the fielding system. The bowler is the chief part of the system, the governing agent in its work; the several fieldsmen are subordinate but essential parts of it. Now the wicket-keeper's connection with the bowler is closest of all. It is as if the bowler were at one end of a telegraph wire and the wicket-keeper at the other. There is a continual current of thought and action passing and repassing between them. At least this is what ought to be. The wicket-keeper may almost be described as part of the bowler; if the other fielders ought to bowl in spirit with the bowler, the wicket-keeper ought to do so ten times over. It is absolutely certain that good wicket-keepers—some consciously, others unconsciously—help the bowler to bowl. The best instance of this that occurs to me is that of Mr MacGregor and Mr S. M. J. Woods. The latter declares that so well did they know one another, so closely were they en rapport, that he himself knew exactly what ball the other expected, and his wicket-keeper knew exactly what ball was coming. Any one who has ever stood behind the wicket will readily understand the vast advantage of knowing what kind of ball the bowler is going to send down. And when one realises that the wicket-keeper is, in virtue of his position, far better able than any one else to see how a batsman is playing, where he is weak and how he can best be got out, it is easy to understand the help a bowler can get from a wicket-keeper who tacitly informs him how things stand and what ought to be done. It is a case of two heads against one. Even without this mental telegraphy, a good wicket-keeper assists a bowler incalculably, because he gives him confidence and keeps him up to the mark. Any one who has sent down an over or two knows the mental difference between having a smart and a slovenly wicket-keeper behind the sticks. A bad wicket-keeper, apart from missing catches and letting byes, gives the bowler a feeling of incompleteness. Something is wanting; things are askew and not nicely rounded off. It may almost be
