It is the unexpected which occurs in life as well as in cricket, therefore do not anticipate the movements of your antagonist but let your actions be governed by developments.
‘You see, sir,’ said one fine old man, with brilliant eye and quickness of movement, that showed his right hand had not yet forgot its cunning, ‘matches were bought, and matches were sold, and gentlemen who meant honestly lost large sums of money, till the rogues beat themselves at last. They overdid it; they spoilt their own trade; and, as I told one of them, a knave and a fool makes a bad partnership: so you and yourself will never prosper. Well, surely there was robery enough; and not a few of the great players earned money to their own disgrace; but, if you’ll believe me, there was not half the selling there was said to be. Yes I can guess, sir, much as you have been talking to all the old players over this good stuff (pointing to the brandy and water I had provided), no doubt you have heard that B---- sold as bad as the rest. I’ll tell the truth; one match up the country I did sell,--a match made by Mr. Osbaldestone at Nottingham. I had been sold out of a match just before, and lost 10l., and happening to hear it I joined two others of our eleven to sell, and get back my money. I won 10l. exactly, and of this roguery no one ever suspected me; but many was the time I have been blamed for selling when as innocent as a babe. In those days when so much money was on the matches, every man who lost his money would blame some one. Then if A missed a catch, or B made no runs,--and where’s the player whose hand is always in?--the man was called a rogue directly. So when a man was doomed to lose his character, and bear all the smart, there was the more temptation to do like others, and after ‘the kicks’ to come in for ‘the half-pence.’ But I am an old man now, and heartily sorry I have been ever since, because, but for that Nottingham match, I could have said, with a clear conscience, to a gentleman like you, that all that was said was false, and I never sold a match in my life; but now I can’t. But if I had fifty sons, I would never put one of them, for all the games in the world, in the way of the roguery that I have witnessed. The temptation really was very great,--too great by far for any poor man to be exposed to,--no richer than ten shillings a week, let alone harvest time. I never told you the way I first was brought to London. I was a lad of eighteen at this Hampshire village, and Lord Winchelsea had seen us play among ourselves, and watched the match with the Hambledon Club on Broad-halfpenny, when I scored forty-three against David Harris, and ever so many of the runs against David’s bowling, and no one ever could manage David before. So, next year, in the month of March, I was down in the meadows, when a gentleman came across the field with Farmer Hilton, and thought I, all in a minute, now this is something about cricket. Well, at last it was settled, I was to play Hampshire against England, at London, in White Conduit-Fields ground, in the month of June. For three months I did nothing but think about that match. Tom Walker was to travel up from this country, and I agreed to go with him, and found myself at last, with a merry company of cricketers, all old men, whose names I had ever heard as foremost in the game--met together, drinking, card-playing, betting, and singing at the Green Man (that was the great cricketer’s house), in Oxfork Street,--no man without his wine, I assure you, and such suppers as three guineas a game to lose, and five to win (that was then the pay for players) could never pay for long. To go to London by a wagon, earn five guineas three or four times told, and come back with half the money in your pocket to the ploug again, was all very well talking. You know what young folks are, sir, when they get together: mischief brews stronger in large quantities: so many spent all their earnings, and were soon glad to make more money some other way. Hundreds of pounds were bet upon the great matches, and other wagers laid on the scores of the finest players, and that too by men who had a book for every race, and every match in the sporting world: men who lived by gambling; and as to honesty, gambling and honesty don’t often go together. What was easier, then, than for such sharp gentlemen to mix with the players, take advantage of their difficulties, and say, your backers, my Lord this, and the Duke of that, sell matches and overrule all your good play, so why shouldn’t you have a share of the plunder? That was their constant argument. Serve them as they serve you. You have heard of Jim Bland, the turfsman, and his brother Joe--two nice boys.