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wasted their sixpence. The money is in the slog. They want to hit you and they want to hit you in that direction there.’ He pointed to a big tent about fifty feet away. ‘Most of them are going to see a little kid—you—and they’re going to see that juicy slow cricket ball floating through the air, like an apple ripe for the eating, and they’re going to plant their front foot, and close their eyes, and swing the bat like an axe. Their weakness is you because they’ve never a seen a bowler so good. And their weakness is themselvesbecause they’re hicks and they won’t be able to bat. And there’s all their mates giving them the “oh aye”. And there’s that pound making ’em lick their chops. The only thing you gotta remember is to keep varying your deliveries, because some will watch you for a while and take a punt on where the ball might land.’
    That was exactly how it went, except that David had much more fun than he thought he would. Part of the fun was the way Uncle Mike talked to the crowd.
    â€˜Let’s see how this fella is going to go. Anyone reckon he’s even going to get near it?’
    And the crowd, which had grown to over forty, would cheer and groan and boo along with Michael.
    â€˜Come on now. What’s your name, son?’
    â€˜Frederick,’ replied the beefy farm youth defiantly, as he took a couple of loosening swings with the bat.
    â€˜Frederick, huh. Now that’s a king’s name that. Not Fred, mind.’
    There were spirited calls from Frederick’s friends. Good-natured cheers from the crowd.
    â€˜Okay, then. Quiet now. Give King Frederick a chance. This is for a pound. Bit of concentration here.’
    The crowd settled.
    â€˜Belt it Fred,’ yelled someone.
    â€˜Don’t let him hit you, David,’ yelled someone else.
    There was some more cheering then, and some mutters and talk.
    David stood waiting, trying to ignore the talk a little. In the beginning he had listened and gotten caught up with the jokes and cheering and the like. And it had put him off. He’d been lucky, because as his uncle had predicted, thebatters swung so wildly that it didn’t seem to matter where he pitched the ball. He’d bowled a few wide though, and his uncle had insisted he bowl those again, ‘With no extra charge, good folk of Northam.’
    Also in the beginning, David had looked at the people. A man had a big round nose, like a pig’s. A lady had ears that squashed out under her hat. An old man had a sore on his face that was weeping some nasty looking water. There was hair growing out of noses and ears and into eyes.
    And the people looked back. Some had smiled. Others had glared. There were some who gave him even odder looks. A farm boy yelled, ‘Gawd will ya look at the kid’s fingers. Like he’s holding a couple of dead chooks.’ They’d all laughed loud at that. David bowled the next ball without even thinking about it at all and the ball had sailed over his head and way out near the big tent.
    That’s when Uncle Mike had started talking to him as much as the crowd. He whispered to David, ‘Good. That’s the pound we wanted to give away, so everyone thinks they’ve got a chance. You sly old devil you. But you concentrate now, all right. Not them. You got that?’
    Now David was concentrating on each ball as though it were practice at home. He started to pretend he was by the shed, with nothing but a few chooks clucking after dinner. He had tried a skidder a couple of times and a shooter, but Uncle Mike had whispered to leave them out today. He’d explained that they were too straight and could be mis-hit with a bit of luck. So David concentrated on his leggies and wrong-uns and his off breaks. Although he only had to make sure the batters didn’t hit his bowling at all, David still hit the stumps with regularity, which seemed to please the crowd