About five minutes later the Harrow captain became the victim of an idea.
“’Ought to reply now, I suppose,” he said nervously. “’Wonder if the boy’s gone. Would you say you’d play? What do you say, sir? What do you say, Grace? How would you word it? Don’t quite know what to do. Somehow feel I’m not altogether fit.”
“It’s all right, Tommy; I have replied,” said his sister. “You’re playing on Monday.”
“It’s beas’ly good of you, old girl,” said her youngest brother.
“What price Harrow’s principles now?” cried Carteret. “Here is the man who was not going to let his sister play the apostle with him. Wasn’t he going to let her see!”
“Shut up, James,” said Miss Grace, “else you’ll get some more tea on your togs. Soon as a fellow plays for the county he gets sense knocked into him, and grows into a man quite suddenly. Now, Tommy, mind no more smoking this week; early to bed, you know, not a minute after ten; nice long morning walks, and, perhaps, a Turkish bath on Saturday. We must have you like—like a jumping cracker for Monday.”
“Mayn’t I smoke cigarettes?” said the meek Tommy.
“No, not one,” said his tyrannical sister. “And I shall put you on oysters and beef-tea. Oh, and cod-liver oil.”
“Cod-liver oil?” said the prospective county man. He made a grimace.
“Certainly,” said Miss Grace. “Archie and Charlie take a tablespoonful a day, don’t you? I simply insist on it, don’t I?”