A red-haired young gentleman, scantily clad in a sweater and a pair of flannel trousers, stood on the lawn below me.
“Good morning,” he said cheerily. “Do you mind throwing me back my ball?”
“What ball?” I said.
“My tennis ball,” he answered. “It must be somewhere in the room; it went clean through the window.”
I found the ball and threw it back to him,
“What are you doing?” I asked. “Playing tennis?”
“No,” he said. “I am just practising against the side of the house. It improves your game wonderfully.”
“It don’t improve my night’s rest,” I answered somewhat surlily I fear. “I came down here for peace and quiet. Can’t you do it in the daytime?”
“Daytime!” he laughed. “Why it has been daytime for the last two hours. Never mind, I’ll go round the other side.”
He disappeared round the corner, and set to work at the back, where he woke up the dog. I heard another window smash, followed by a sound as of somebody getting up violently in a distant part of the house, and shortly afterwards I must have fallen asleep again.