Alan dropped out of the Varsity Eleven the following week, and he was in a very gloomy mood when Michael paid him a visit of condolence.
“These hard wickets have finished me off,” he sighed. “I shall take up golf, I think.”
The bag of clubs he had brought up on his first day was lying covered with gray fluff under the bed.
“Oh, no, don’t play golf,” protested Michael, “you’ve got two more years to get your Blue and all your life to play golf, which is a rotten game and has ruined Varsity cricket.”
“But one can be alone at golf,” said Alan.
“Alone?” repeated Michael. “Why on earth should you want to play an outdoor game alone?”
“Because I get depressed sometimes,” Alan explained. “What good am I?”
Michael began to laugh.
“It’s nothing to laugh at,” said Alan sadly. “I’ve been thinking of my future. I shall never have enough money to marry. I shall never get my Blue. I shall get a fourth in Greats. Perhaps I shan’t even get into the Egyptian Civil Service. I expect I shall end as a bank clerk. Playing cricket for a suburban club on Saturday afternoons. That’s all I see before me. When is Stella going to Vienna?”
“I don’t know that she is going,” said Michael. “She always talks a great deal about things which don’t always come off.”