There was but little more to happen, little that mattered. There was the concert, in which David was one of a group of tenors who would take part in the Milton Ode. That would be rather jolly; there was a delightful passage at the end about ‘O may we soon renew that song.’ And the name, ‘Blest pair of sirens,’ had an aroma about it. Adams had quoted it to him and Maddox just after cock-house match, when he had asked for leave to go down to bathe. What a good day that had been! perhaps the best day of all these dead days.
Then, after the concert, would be the uproarious house-supper with a farewell speech from Frank. David felt empty inside at the thought.
The field was speckled with groups of boys straying about in the idleness of the last day. Some sat on the grass, some were playing stump-cricket, and all seemed unreasonably cheerful. Now and then two or three passed near him, and he exchanged friendly “Hullos” with them; sometimes they would ask him to join them in a stroll. But David’s reply was always the same: “Sorry, but I promised to wait here for a chap.” Then Bags detached himself from a passing group, and sat down by him. David could talk to him with freedom.
“Oh Bags, I feel beastly,” he said. “What rot the end of term is!”
“But you’re going to have rather a decent time, aren’t you?” asked Bags.
“Oh, yes. There’s a cricket week at Baxminster, and they’ve asked me to play in two matches. And it’s awfully good of you to want me to come and stay with you. I’ll let you know as soon as ever I can. Depends on my pater. Perhaps we’re all going to Switzerland.”
“Come whenever you like,” said the faithful Bags. “I shall be at home all the holidays. I think you might enjoy it. There’s a lot of rabbit-potting in August, you know, and some partridges in September.”
“Is it easy to shoot?” asked David.
“Lord, yes. I get on all right, and I haven’t got your eye!”
“Well, it’s awfully good of you. I should like to come if I may. But I don’t care about anything to-day. Hump, I suppose.”