Then followed the supper the Doctor gave them, and, later on, the bell for prayers and rest.
“Hope you haven’t lost your keys,” said Glyn, as they began to undress, utterly wearied out.
“Lost my keys! Why should I lose my keys?” said Singh with a yawn. “Here they are! No, they are not! I left them in my flannels.”
“Nice fellow you are to take care of your things!” said Glyn, as his companion limped across the room to where he had thrown his dusty and green-marked cricketing suit—anyhow—upon a chair.
“Oh, murder!” he said. “I am so stiff. I can hardly move, and my right hand feels all bruised and strained; but I say, Glynny, I hardly missed a ball; and didn’t I play old gooseberry with some of their stumps?”
“Yes, we must have rather astonished them,” cried Glyn. “They haven’t had such a licking as that for a long time.”
“Here, I say,” cried Singh, “you have been up to some games,” and he fumbled in vain in his flannels-pockets. “I say, you shouldn’t do this, Glynny. The key of my India trunk is one of the bunch, and you know I don’t like any games played with that.”
“I haven’t played any games,” said Glyn quietly.
“Now, no nonsense,” cried Singh pettishly. “You have got my keys.”
“Oh yes, I have got them,” cried Glyn. “Here they are. Catch!”