“Ah, Ingleby,” he said. “Is that you?”
He sat on the grass beside them, very carefully, as befitted a man of his figure. “A beautiful day. Let me see, who are we playing?”
“The M.C.C., sir.”
“Ah, yes . . . the Marylebone Cricket Club. Are you fond of cricket, Ingleby?”
“Of course I am, sir.”
“I very seldom see you now. That’s the pity of it. The better a boy is the less you see of him. He passes through your form quickly, and that’s the end of it. And how is Widdup?”
Widdup was very well, if a little impatient
“You and Ingleby are great friends, Widdup. Quite inseparable. I’ve often seen you walking up and down the quad at night. I wonder what it is you have in common, eh?”
Widdup didn’t know. They’d always been pals. They’d always slept alongside each other. That was how you got to know a chap.
“Well, Ingleby, what are you reading in these days?”