“Was I?” said Mr. Philip apprehensively, for he read in the eyes of Mary that his doom was sealed.
“Were you, Phil-ipp! Might never have kicked three goals against Scotland, mightn’t you? Why, of course you’ll play; especially as it’s a benefit match.”
“But I haven’t kicked a ball for years and years, and I’ve got no gear either.”
“We’ll soon fix you up with some gear, won’t we, Mrs. Shel?” said the exultant Olympians.
“Ra-ther.”
Poor Philip protested bitterly; but he knew, alas! that he would have to bow to the inevitable. At a quarter-past three on the morrow, after an absence of four years, he was doomed to reappear in the ranks of the famous amateur team whom he had helped to make history.
CHAPTER XXII
IN WHICH PHILIP RENEWS HIS YOUTH
When Horace and Johnny resumed their walk along the King’s Parade, they felt at least two inches taller for having rubbed shoulders with the aristocracy. Everybody does, Sir, says Mr. Thackeray; and no one is a penny the worse for this national feeling, we venture to hope, provided it is not carried to excess. Certainly the girls of Brighthelmstone had a rare treat for the rest of the day, Johnny and Horace putting on wonderful “side,” and setting their hats at an angle warranted to kill at sight.
The Idol of the Profession ought never to have married a Toff. Still, they all did it if they had the chance, so you could hardly blame her. But the great thing was, she hadn’t changed at all. She was just the same honest pal as when she played at the Queen’s at Leeds. Her heart was still in the right place in spite of her elevation. It wasn’t always so, but it was in this case. She was one of the very best, and she had proved it that morning to five places of decimals recurring, by not being ashamed of old friends.
Thus you see, my lords and gentlemen, in spite of the fact that Horace and Johnny swaggered along the King’s Parade in a way that Eton and Oxford never do—do they?—and that you would hardly have cared to accept their invitation to cross the road and ’ave a drink at the good old Magnificent—at least, not when the wife was with you—they were really modest men at heart, as most men are if they ever attain to reasonable eminence in their particular walk of life.