At Bullonwcow.

Timaru Herald, Volume XIIIC, Issue 14216, 4 June 1910, Page 1 (Supplement)

At Bullonwcow.

THE CRICKET CRAZE. When Jefferson came to Merino -Downs, the Manager was inclined to ignore him, his youth being against him, but a little humouring on Jefferson's part changed all that, and the manager enthusiastically, it might said said, adopted him. '

Jefferson," he said, "for a voung man, takes an intelligent interest in sheep. And that liko charity, covered a multitude of sins, so far as the manager was concerned. For some time after we tad Jeff for breakfast, dinner, and tea, and in between meals. He was held up as a paragon to everyone on the station. U lien things were not working smoothly, the manager would say, "Look at -YLr. J eft erson—managing a station, while you fellows, who can give him j ears are slummocking round at a pound a week, and dear at that." It was no wonder that we got sick of Jefferson, though he only laughed when we told him our troubles, and implored him to backslide. Then all of a sudden Jeff's name was dropped. We never heard it mentioned by any chance. What had happened? P on ° knen ' until somo time after, when it turned out that at the last board meetmg Jefferson had shocked I he Manager by inviting him to come over the following Sunday to hare (above all things) a game of cricket. '-No,-' snapped The Manager, "I don t play cricket, and, what is more, i}° P a^jenc e "with those who do." -A-h, replied Jefferson, "you don't kno\v what you are missing. Now. mv idea of heaven is to play cricket all day and drink shandy-gaff." ~ The Manager gazed'dumbfounded at the utterer of such rank blasphemy, and during the rest of the meeting never spoke again. The shock was too much for him. There was no open rupture, but The Manager felt that he had compromised himself. And so we got a rest from the "Jefferson" example, ana the only time we ever gave him a thought was when the Manager would atuerwards remark that "he used to wonder why Banks couldn't make stations pay, but didn't now." We knew then the reason why. They employed Jeffersons, who played cricket and drank shandy-gaff, instead of Jeffersons who took an intelligent interest in sheep and drank whisky. One day the mail brought a letter that threatened to shake the holy Sabbath calm of Bullomvcow to its foundations. As it was, It sent Herbert to polish up the harness, old Bill to the horse-yard, and the bookkeeper to adding up columns of figures that he had totted up months before. It was no less than a letter from the secretary of the "Combined Stations' Cricket Club," informing him that he had been elected president of the club, and suggesting a donation to buy a new mat. Thore was also a footnote stating that the result of the election for the most important office of the club was that The Manager had received thirty votes to Jefferson's three. It may he said that Jefferson was the

only man who attended the meeting, and he made up the thirty. "When the tempest caused by the insult of being elected president of a cricket club had subsided, the insidious flattery of the thirty to three election began to work, and The Manager began to purr with satisfaction at such overwhelming evidence of his popularity, for the Combined Cricket Club embraced the whole district, and only met once a, year in town at show time. And so I.he Manager became president and celebrated his acceptance by presenting the club with the new mattting they wanted.

About this time it was discovered that Herbert was not getting proper station instruction, and Tho iManager insisted upon his accompanying him every time he went out on the run. Old Bill declared it was only to open the gates, but Herbert reported at night that all day the conversation had been a compound of Merino sheep, combing, _ clothing, serrations, interlarded with questions about the merits of Noble, Trumper, and Sid Gregorv. n fact, The Manager was taking, to quoto Herbert, quite an intelligent interest m cricket.

The next time The Manager came back froni town lio startled the station by producing a new bat and a composition ball, ami although it was nearly dinner time, insisted upon setting up an old oil drum for a wicket and getting Herbert to bowl to liim. From this out the disease grew stronger. Every afternoon there was a match. TIIO station hands, who had never been known to appear before sundown, now got through their work a couple of hours before. Tommv tlio Pensioner, was detailed to, what The Manager first said, to "keen tallv." but afterwards corrected himself'by saying to "keep the notches. *" livery man had batted, and then went and scouted" to quote The Manager. There was a grand resurrection solete cricket terms at Hullomycow that puzzled the younger men, but they said nothing. It was an understood think that The Manager was not to bo out-, if possible under nbout twenty runs. If ho were caught the proper" caper, as Old Bill said, was to rnifc your hand under tout oxter, and dance about as if you had stood on a greenhead's nest, and swear the ball came like a phot from a gun, and nearly took your hand off. Cricket was a precious privilege at Bullomvoow, and wo were not taking any risks. There was only one thing about it that we were afraid affected Manager. He could not bowl and bat at the same time. Could this be contrived, it was felt that the gome would bo perfect. One night at dinner there was ouite a sensation. No one was talking at the time. The Manager was sipping a cup of tea 3 when, without any notice or warning whatever, lie burst forth with a new and startling original expression. "Trumper," said he, "is the champagne of cricket."

"Aren't you well, dear?" said The Missus.

"Of course, I'm well." said The Manager. -""Why shouldn't I be well ?"

"Oil, notli&g," said The Missus. But we all knew that before she went to bed Dr. Fullerton would be searched from A to Z for a new disease, whose principal symptoms were an eruption of "champagne of cricket," and the proper method of handling the same. "I see," said Herbert, "that lie (referring to "The Champagne") made 185 last Saturdav."

"Ah," said The Manager, ""I said lie was the champagne of cricket. Did the paper say whether he made them off liis own bat P."

The cricket match—Towrf against Combined Stations—was always the closing feature of tho show week. This year's match was expected to be tho best ever held. Tho president's new matting was to be baptised, new tools, new balls, new jtlayers—everything new.

The only trouble, so far ns tlio Station's team was concerned, was what to do with The Manager. As president he would take it, that he had to run the team. If lie were put into the team, he would go out the first ball. He would he Blire to insist upon bowling, and the town players, who were no respecters of persons, would be sure to smite liim for all tliey were worth, and lie would then got huffy and go off, taking "Walter and Herbert of Bullomycow with Mm. And they were the only two "bowlers the country team could depend upon. Somebody suggested that lie be beguiled into town- and started on a dissertation on sheep and wool, whisky being kept up to him .at the club's expense. This was ruled out of court as being impracticable. In the first place, it was felt that the club was not financial enough; in the second. The Manager was one of those rare geniuses who got more sober with whisky.

A suggestion of sending' someone out to start a bush fire was scouted. He would be sure to go himself, but he would also take the two bowlers with liim, and as likely as not the two teams would be bounced into helping to put out the imaginary conflagration. The local editor was the man who solved the problem. He put in a notice in his paper saying that The Manager as president would "as usual" act as umpire and superintend the game. And Tho Manager was satisfied.

AMien the game was started, nothing could be better. The Town team went in first, and by lunch time were all out. Luncheon and its toasts put everyone in good humour. Tho tools were voted to be perfect, while the country presidents' gifts—the new matting—■ was voted the best ever, produced. Nothing could be better.

Wlien the Country team went in players were inclined a little to horseplay — no one seemed to be serious except the president, who fussed over with importance. So far his duties had been carried out with no hitch. His decisions had never been doubted, for tho simple reason_ he had never been called ujxm to decide a dspute. It was only when the Country team went in that he was appealed to, and then came the tragedy —the crowning tragedy of the day! Herbert had been batting vigorously and doing Bullomycow credit. In the third over lie hit a ball to the boundary, and while the ball was being returned, sat on his bat, crosslegs, in the crease.

When it was returned, Smith, of the Bank, jocularly touched the bails and said: "How's that, umpire?" It was only a habit of Smith's, and the appeal was never meant to be taken seriously, but to the astonishment of everybody—Smith most of all—The Manager said: "Out." "Out?" gasped Herbert in amazement. "Why, I haven't left the crease."

"Look Here, young man," said The Manager, "I'm umpire here —not you. say you are out. and out you are. You go to the office and get your cheque. You've been out ever since you went in, only these fools didn't have sense enough to appeal. We are playing the strict rules of the game. Out you go. You never ran on the mat once."