Signs and Portents

Of all the men who ever worried the captain of a

touring team into an early grave, that maniac Sanderson is the worst. To be

sheep-dog to a side on tour is bad enough in ordinary circumstances.

Under no conditions does the innate folly of man show

up so luridly. You write half-a-dozen post-cards telling a man what train to

catch at Waterloo, and you find later that he went and waited patiently for an

hour and a quarter at Victoria. Or he forgets his cricket bag, or his aunt dies

the day before you start, and there is no time to get a substitute — for him,

not for his aunt