big hitter being caught on the boundary. Soothed by these memories, he fell asleep.
Next morning he found himself in a softened frame of mind. He thought of Bob's iniquities with sorrow rather than wrath. He felt towards him much as a father feels towards a prodigal son whom there is still a chance of reforming. He overtook Bob on his way to chapel.
Directness was always one of Burgess's leading qualities.
"Look here, Bob. About your fielding. It's simply awful."
Bob was all remorse.
"It's those beastly slip catches. I can't time them."
"That one yesterday was right into your hands. Both of them were."
"I know. I'm frightfully sorry."
"Well, but I mean, why can't you hold them? It's no good being a good bat—you're that all right—if you're going to give away runs in the field."
"Do you know, I believe I should do better in the deep. I could get time to watch them there. I wish you'd give me a shot in the deep—for the second."
"Second be blowed! I want your batting in the first. Do you think you'd really do better in the deep?"
"I'm almost certain I should. I'll practise like mad. Trevor'll hit me up catches. I hate the slips. I get in the dickens of a funk directly the bowler starts his run now. I know that if a catch does come, I shall miss it. I'm certain the deep would be much better."
"All right then. Try it."
The conversation turned to less pressing topics.
In the next two matches, accordingly, Bob figured on the boundary, where he had not much to do except throw the ball back to the bowler, and stop an occasional drive along the carpet. The beauty of fielding in the deep is that no unpleasant surprises can be sprung upon one. There is just that moment or two for collecting one's thoughts which makes the whole difference. Bob, as he
