bowler's arm?' he yelled appealingly to Space.

'Here he comes, whoever he is,' said Mike.

A short, stout man in a straw hat and a flannel suit was walking
towards them. As he came nearer Mike saw that he had a hard, thin-lipped
mouth, half-hidden by a rather ragged moustache, and that behind a pair
of gold spectacles were two pale and slightly protruding eyes, which,
like his mouth, looked hard.

'How are you, Smith,' he said.

'Hullo, Bickersdyke.' There was a slight internal struggle, and then Mr
Smith ceased to be the cricketer and became the host. He chatted
amiably to the new-comer.

'You lost the game, I suppose,' said Mr Bickersdyke.

The cricketer in Mr Smith came to the top again, blended now, however,
with the host. He was annoyed, but restrained in his annoyance.

'I say, Bickersdyke, you know, my dear fellow,' he said complainingly,
'you shouldn't have walked across the screen. You put Jackson off, and
made him get bowled.'

'The screen?'

'That curious white object,' said Mike. 'It is not put up merely as an
ornament. There's a sort of rough idea of giving the batsman a chance
of seeing the ball, as well. It's a great help to him when people come