"Good man," said Dick.
"Was it against a girls' school?" said Bobby. (You know, Bobby is simply asking for it.)
"It was not. Nor were children of twelve allowed in without their perambulators."
"Well, anyhow," said Bobby, "I bet Phyllis can bowl better than you."
"Is this true?" I said to Phyllis. I asked her, because in a general way my bowling is held to be superior to that of girls of fifteen. Of course, she might be something special.
"I can bowl Bobby out," she said modestly.
I looked at Bobby in surprise and then shook my head sadly.
"You jolly well shut up," he said, turning indignantly to his sister.
"Just because you did it once when the sun was in my eyes—"
"Bobby, Bobby," I said, "this is painful hearing. Let us be thankful that we don't have to play against girls' schools. Let us—"
But Bobby was gone. Goaded to anger, he had put his hands in his pockets and made the general observation "Rice-pudding"—an observation inoffensive enough to a stranger, but evidently of such deep, private significance to Phyllis that it was necessary for him to head a pursuit into the shrubbery without further delay.