THE CRICKET MATCH
carried their puny score. Giles batted as he had never done before, while over against him Dessalines opened up. his great shoulders and dragged out the ball in tremendous boundary hits such as the field had never seen. The excitement kept pace; from nervous apprehension too fearful to cheer, on through the dawning hope that the disgrace of the defeat might yet be mitigated, on upward through successive fevered stages of hope to frantic wildness at the growing possibility of a tied score. Suddenly Giles went out on a caught fly.
"Is that all?" gasped Virginia. "Is the game over?"
"No! no!" cried her companion. "They've still got a chance! They only need four runs to tie 'em." He groaned. "There's that duffer Dallet going to bat. He's no good!— Look at that! Look! Oh, my word! Now we are done for!"
A murmur arose from the tense crowd. A lightning ball from the bowler had struck the handle of the bat and dropped at Dessalines' feet. With a snarl he had flung one hand in the air, then brushed it against his thigh where it left a bloody smear on the white trousers. Then, with such a smothered and inarticulate growl as might come from a maimed bear, he gripped the bat in the uninjured hand and brandished it toward the bowler as if it were a war club shaken in the face of a tribal enemy.
Virginia watched, fascinated and trembling. She saw the ball fly here and there across the field, the swift figures of the runners, a series of rapid plays … and then the players seemed to break from their position and mingle confusedly … and a frenzied British crowd
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