“And because that was the year we had a bonfire in June, because Doctor Stacey was married for the third time, and we burned all the birches.”
Then he pushed down his first finger.
“And because that was the year we had an extra week’s holiday.”
Down went his second finger.
“And because that was the year the Spanish galleon was wrecked on Jagger Rock.”
Down went the third finger.
“And because that was the year your father bought the whole of Slatey Gap.”
Down went the fourth finger, so that his open hand had become a clenched fist held up, and then in his regular old pugnacious way he looked round the room as if he wanted to hit somebody as he snarled out:
“Now, who says I’m wrong?”
I could have said so, but what’s the use of quarrelling with a fellow who can’t help being obstinate. It was in his nature, and no end of times I’ve known that when my old school-fellow was snaggy and nasty and quarrelsome with me, he’d have fought like a Trojan on my side against half the school.