After a short but violent interlude, the confused noise ceased by tacit consent, as suddenly as it had begun; Ealing helped Reggie to pick up the broken fragments that remained, and the latter had to drink his tea out of a pint glass.
“To think that a mere game of football should lead to such disastrous consequences,” he remarked. “Why does tea out of a glass taste like hot Gregory powder?”
“I never drank hot Gregory powder; what does it taste like?”
“Why, like tea out of a glass,” said Reggie brilliantly.
“Reggie, if you want to rag again, you’ve only got to say so.”
Ealing threw into a corner the napkin with which he had been drying his knees and stocking after the tea-deluge, and as he had finished, took out a pipe, and proceeded to fill it.
“That pig of a half-back caught me a frightful hack on the shin,” he said.
“Well, you kicked him in the stomach later on,” said Reggie consolingly. “That’s always something to fall back on. Besides he did it by accident, and it certainly looked as if you did it on purpose. Of course it may only have been sheer clumsiness.”
“Dry up. You didn’t funk as much as usual this afternoon.”
“I tried to, but I never had time. And I can funk as quickly as any man in England. Jack, it’s time for you to say something.”