The Hanging Three

I strolled across the turf to the cricket pavilion veranda, where the afternoon sun warmed the white-painted railings. On the slatted bench beneath the scoreboard frame, a spare wooden number tile painted with a bold black numeral three lay tilted against the timber. Curious about the empty peg above, I planted both feet firmly on the bench and hoisted the flat wooden square with both plush paws. It had a neat brass eyelet screwed into its top edge. With patient aim, I guided the loop over the open brass hook until it caught. The tile swung gently, settling flush with a soft wooden tap. From the lawn, the frame looked pleasantly complete.