“How do you become head of a table?” Michael’s left-hand neighbor suddenly asked.
Michael said he really did not know.
“Because what I’m wondering,” the left-hand neighbor continued, “is why they’ve made that ass Wedderburn head of our table.”
“Why, is he an ass?” Michael inquired.
“Frightful ass,” continued the left-hand neighbor, whom Michael perceived to be a small round-faced youth, very fair and very pink. “Perfectly harmless, of course. Are you an Harrovian?”
Michael shook his head.
“I thought you were a cousin of my mother,” said the left-hand neighbor.
Michael looked astonished.
“His name’s Mackintosh. What’s your name?”
Michael told him.