So next
over he claimed his rights, and took the ball. Luck still befriended
him: he bowled four wickets in twelve overs; the wicket-keeper stumped
a fifth: the rest were "the tail," and disposed of for a few runs, and
the total was no more than Huntercombe's first innings.
Our hero then took the bat, and made forty-seven runs before he was
disposed of, five wickets down for a hundred and ten runs. The match
was not won yet, nor sure to be; but the situation was reversed.
On going out, he was loudly applauded; and Ruperta naturally felt proud
of her admirer.
Being now free, he came to her irresolutely with some iced champagne.
Ruperta declined, with thanks; but he looked so imploringly that she
sipped a little, and said, warmly, "I hope we shall win: and, if we do,
I know whom we shall have to thank."
"And so do I: you, Miss Bassett."
"Me? Why, what have _I_ done in the matter?"
"You brought us luck, for one thing. You put us on our mettle.
Staveleigh shall never beat _me,_ with you looking on."
Ruperta blushed a little, for the boy's eyes beamed with fire.
"If I believed that," said she, "I should hire myself out at the next
match, and charge twelve pairs of gloves."
"You may believe it, then; ask anybody whether our luck did not change
the moment you came.
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