We all got ready to say something.

"Oh, yes," he interpolated hurriedly, "I know, of course, that a
substitute may not bat for another at the end of a match, but this is
a dream, remember. That, perhaps, is what dreams are for--to provide
the limited and frustrated life of the daytime with the compensations
of limitless adventure and success."

"Order!" we cried.

"I beg pardon," he said, and returned to the vernacular.

"Very well; that is the scenario. Meanwhile the last two batsmen are
in--the Kent captain and another: that is to say, the last two, unless
another is forthcoming. And still there are six runs needed--five to
tie and six to win. The excitement is appalling. Everyone in the vast
concourse is tense. It is at this moment that the captain is bowled."

He stopped to wipe his forehead.

"What happens then?" he continued. "You would think the match was
over. So it would be on any ordinary ground and under ordinary
conditions, and particularly so if that umpire in the Sussex and
Somerset match the other day were officiating. But he is not, and
this is a dream. What happens is that the Kent captain, instead of
returning to the Pavilion, stops and talks to the other captain and
then he leaves the pitch and begins to walk towards the ring. When he
reaches the ring, some way from me, he begins to ask loudly, 'Is there
a Kent man here who can play at all and would help us out?' I can