his scores to its unsteadying effect.

How he ever survived five years of military service without being shot for
persistently carrying his hands in his pockets while on parade, to the
detriment of good order and military discipline, I can never understand.
Surely some Brass-hat, inspecting Rankin's regiment, must have noticed that
Rankin's hands were in his pockets when he should have been presenting
arms? I can only presume that they all loved Rankin, and love is blind.
Well, he is quite a good chap. I like him myself.

We now come to the day of the Smallwick _v._ Littleborough match.

Smallwick lost the toss and went out to field, and, as one of their players
had not arrived, Rankin went with them as a substitute.

We lost three wickets for only ten runs, and then I went in. It was one of
my rare cricket days. I felt, I knew, that I should make runs--not much
more than twenty, of course, but then twenty is a big score for
Littleborough. And I felt like twenty at least.

Rankin was fielding at deep long-on, close to the tent; but they had no one
at square leg, which is my special direction on my twenty days. Presently
the bowler offered me a full pitch on the leg side. I timed it
successfully, and had no doubt of having added four to my score, when, to
my astonishment, I saw a fieldsman running from the direction of the hedge.
The next moment he had brought off a very creditable catch.

It did not dawn on me at first that this was their eleventh man, arrived at
that moment. When it did, I could not help laughing to think that he should
imagine he could rush in like that while his substitute was still fielding.