"Well, why don't you put my Bobby on, then? Boys are allowed to play
right-handed, you know."

So Bobby went on, and with Sarah's help finished off the innings.

"Jolly good rot," he said to Simpson, "you're having to bowl
left-handed."

"My dear Robert," I said, "Mr Simpson is a natural base-ball
pitcher, he has an acquired swerve at bandy, and he is a
lepidopterist of considerable charm. But he can't bowl with either
hand."

"Coo!" said Bobby.

The allies came out even more strongly when we went in to bat. I was
the only Rabbit who made ten, and my whole innings was played in an
atmosphere of suspicion very trying to a sensitive man. Mrs Oakley
was in when I took guard, and I played out the over with great care,
being morally bowled by every ball. At the end of it a horrible
thought occurred to me: I had been batting right-handed! Naturally I
changed round for my next ball. (Movements of surprise.)

"Hallo," said the wicket-keeper, "I thought you were left-handed;
why aren't you playing right?"

"No, I'm really right-handed," I said. "I played that way by mistake
just now. Sorry."