Bags looked out over the yellow-green of the midsummer field.
“Here’s Maddox,” he said, “almost running. Wonder what he’s in such a hurry for.”
David sat up.
“So he is,” he said. “I say, let’s sit next each other at house-supper. Take a place for me if you get in first. I’m a singer at concert, and singers always get out last.”
“Right oh,” said Bags.
He got up quite slowly, and it seemed ridiculous to David that he should not skip away at once. But he still lingered.
“I dare say Maddox is coming up to take his cricket things away,” he remarked.
“I dare say that’s it,” said David.
By a stroke of Providence, Gregson and a friend came by at this moment.
“Ripping sport,” said Gregson. “Come on, Bags. There’s a terrier at school-shop, and they’re going to put a ferret into the rat-holes. Place’ll be alive with rats. Coming too, Blazes?”