Earl, who was also known as the Banker for reasons that will become apparent, had heard about the Clout from a scout called Dicky Bird. The Clout was on the county’s books, but Dicky Bird knew personally that the Clout was not happy with his contract. “Mark my words,” said Dicky. “He’s a cocky sod.”
“His character does not concern me,” said Earl. “As long as he plays and gives it some of his clout.”
Dicky laughed.
“That will all depend on what you are prepared to give as a match fee. Mark my words,” said Dicky. “He knows his worth, does the Clout, and so too does his entertainer.”
“You mean there is talent involved?”
Dicky threw his head back, chuckling.
“Where goes clout there is always talent,” he said. “Mark my words, that one is no chit.”
When they met at the hotel restaurant, it was as much as Dicky had made out.
The Clout was waiting with his frou frou in the foyer.
The Clout was a big man and stood by her chair, bat in hand, like a walking stick.
They shook hands.
The Clout turned to the clergyman’s daughter. “Mr. Earl,” he said, “may I present to you my fiancé, Miss Bennett?”
Earl smiled and tipped his hat.
“So this is it,” said Earl. “Your mighty willow. May I see?”
The bat was in a black velvet bag, marked with the Clout’s initials.
“Careful,” said Miss Bennett. “He never likes to let go of it. Do you, Eddy?”
Earl picked out the bat and held it in his hand as if appraising its value in his mind. Then he took guard.
Earl began to practice a few strokes. An off drive past the despairing bowler, a cut between gulley and third slip…
“Might I inquire who made it for you? I can’t imagine it was Gray, was it?”
The Clout said nothing.
“And it doesn’t feel like a Nicolls…”
Miss Bennett laughed.
“He won’t tell you, will you, Eddy?” she said. “It’s trade secret.”
“Mr. Earl,” said the Clout, “now you’ve seen me bat, what about we get something to eat?”
The Clout ate his food as he swung his bat. With gusto. He downed his wine with equal pleasure. “I will say this, Mr. Earl,” he said. “This isn’t any old sack.”
When the meal was over and it was time for the cigars and the port, he turned to Miss Bennett. “Betsy,” he said, pointing to the cabinet particular, “Mr. Earl and I have business to discuss.”
“I’ll be frank with you, Mr. Earl,” said the Clout as he puffed away at his cigar. “I’ve already had offers from the other side.”
“I did not doubt it,” said Earl.
“If we go on this tour, Miss Bennett comes with me.”
Earl nodded and they shook hands on it.
“Let’s have another drop of the port.”
They did very well thank you very much over the summer. Earl was not displeased. Being a betting man, he won tidy sums against the odds, particularly in the eight-ball game.
The rules of these eight ball games were quite simple. All the normal rules of cricket applied. The batter was challenged by the bowling side to make the maximum number of runs off eight balls. The batter’s partner was known as the Chump. The Chump was not a specialist batsman, but a man adept at tipping a single to get the batter back on strike. This was Earl’s job. Earl was the master of tip and run. He didn’t care what kind of bat was in his hand so long as he could glance or stab into the gaps.
Earl and the Clout went up and down the country challenging all the big hitters around. They never lost out once. They always found a way to beat the best that a county could put up against them.
Yet, soon enough, word got around. No one wanted to bet on the Clout. This was a problem Earl had foreseen, but he had not foreseen the Clout’s reaction when he suggested the Clout use different bat just to make it interesting. “We can put it about you’re prepared to play a handicap, then we’ll get some good odds.”
The Clout wouldn’t have anything do with it.
“Either I go out with my bat, or you get a new partner.”
Earl did not want to come to blows.
“In business,” he said, “it is important to respect one’s partner’s views, which is why I suggest we cut short our season here and move onto new pastures.”
Earl laid out his plan.
“I always knew you was smart, William Earl,” said the Clout.
“Lizzie,” he said, turning to Miss Bennett, “didn’t you say you always wanted to travel to the Colonies.”
Thus, they booked a passage on the steamer bound for Australia. Needless to say, Earl kept his hand in by plying his other trade on the decks.
No one wanted to play the Poms till they saw what the knuts[1] was holding. In this scheme the Clout played his part in the nets, swishing at balls and letting the Sydney Players tumble his wicket. The Clout would say things like, “Blimey, the ball comes onto the bat much quicker here.” Or, “I am a proud Englishman. Or, “do you wish to knock me block off?”
This was all very humorous and taken in good jest. The Antipodeans unleashed their batsman, who was known as Hooky. Everyone swore blind this Hooky was just a rooky. Though, the Clout and Earl were not fooled. As it turned out, Hooky or the Hook had a rather special bat. He wasted no time hitting a four through the covers and ran a five after a cock up in the field and an overthrow. His partner, the Chump hit a single. Then Hooky hit two sixes in a row, one back over the bowler’s head and the other down cow corner. A leg bye was adjudicated off his bat. In all the Antipodean made 22 runs from his eight ball.
Now it was the Clout’s turn at the wicket. He hit a very flat six from his first ball, which was a full toss on leg stump. The second ball bounced outside the off and swung away outrageously. Somehow the Clout got a bat on it and sliced it over cover. The third ball was a dot ball and ran through to the wicket-keeper. The Clout was out of his crease. There was a hot dispute about this in the middle of the pitch, but the square leg umpire who had taken a shilling and some of God’s willing from Earl declared him not out. The Clout had made eleven from four balls. He chipped a two through the off side. The next ball he pulled for four all along the ground. The Clout needed a six to win. The bowler let go a beamer. The Clout turned his head away and instinctively swatted at the ball. The ball flew over the boundary rope. The Clout won the loot for Earl, who had not faced a ball. But in the process the Clout’s bat broke.
Earl was enjoying the victory in the arms of an Antipodean entertainer when there was a knock at the door of his hotel room.
It was Miss Elizabeth.
“Begging your pardon, it’s the Clout.”
“What’s the trouble?”
“He’s off his chump. He says he’s sick.”
“Well, tell him we have the return match tomorrow. I don’t care if he’s screwed.”
“He won’t get up. He says his life’s over now his bat’s broke.”
“Well, he can pick up a new bat, can’t he?”
“He says he can’t. He wants the god wallah[2]. And I’m telling you that god wallah ain’t speaking in Hindi. He’s all over the shop, and I haven’t been to the haberdashers.”
It was as much as Miss Bennett had made out. The Clout was totally blotto. Between them they managed to clean up the Clout and make him presentable for the challenge.
The Clout was up first. He took a great heave at the first ball and missed. All the Sydney players were chortling into their moustaches. “What’s the matter, Pom? Lost your bottle.” The second ball went through him again. Earl, who could see what was happening, called for the run. Since he was backing up half way down the pitch, he made it before the keeper could get his hands on the bails. Somehow the Clout had staggered up the other end. Earl, who was tall and thin, but still a fair striker of the ball, managed a four through third man, followed by a two lofted over slips. A scrambled single took their tally to eight, which “weren’t” a bad effort in the circumstances.
The Australians chumped them. They made the runs in singles till the final ball which Hooky launched over the sight screen.
“I say, poor show, sir.”
Earl knew they had to pay out, or they were in a nasty jar; he was already packing his bags when Miss Bennett burst into his room. She was in tears.
“Earl, he’s off his onions. It’s that blinking bat. Ever since it broke, he’s spooked. I think he’s about to croak.”
“Lizzie,” said Earl, “if you had any sense, you will make yourself scarce.”
The clergyman’s daughter now played out such a scene that Earl lost all patience. She didn’t spend all this time on the graft to end up as a toe-rag in a doss house, nor was she going to jug in a dog-cart with a lot of dirty mutton chops.[3]
“Miss Bennett,” said Earl, whose heart had become quite cold, as he pushed her out the door, “no one will bet on a man who has broken his bat.”
[1]Edwardian slang. An idle upper-class man-about-town, and still known, according to Beefy, to frequent the streets of London. – Lance.
[2]By which, I am reliably informed, she means a priest to comfort the bat-bereft Clout. – Lance.
[3]One can safely assume Miss Bennett has no desire to work for a living. – Lance.