To Gordon this match seemed the ideal rounding off of his career. There had been no anti-climax, with him the best had come at the end. He would not have to look back and compare his last term unfavourably with the glories of yester year. He had done what he set out to do, he would step rose-garlanded out of the lighted room, in the flush of his success. It was exactly as he had wished. Perfectly satisfied, he lay back in his chair, with his feet on the table, too tired to do anything, merely thinking.
There was a knock at the door.
"Come in."
Rudd came in nervously with a House list in his hand.
"The Chief wants a list of the trains people are going home by."
"Eight-forty to Waterloo."
"Thanks."
Rudd walked towards the door, but as he put his hand on the knob he turned round.
"Well," he began falteringly, "I suppose you are jolly proud of yourself now, aren't you?"
"What the hell do you mean?"