“Well done, Oliver!” said I, but it was the wrong thing again, and once more they disappeared behind the tree. Evidently they decided that the time for plain speaking was come, for now David announced bluntly:
“He wants you not to call him Oliver any longer.”
“What shall I call him?”
“Bailey.”
“But why?”
“He's going to Pilkington's. And he can't play with us any more after next Saturday.”
“Why not?”
“He's going to Pilkington's.”
So now I knew the law about the thing, and we moved on together, Oliver stretching himself consciously, and methought that even David walked with a sedater air.
“David,” said I, with a sinking, “are you going to Pilkington's?”