"I was called Chaffinger for a time. My name's Causton. I suppose yours is Chesson, or you'd hardly be here?"
"Chesson? Why Chesson? No. Mine's Lovenant-Smith—Roy Lovenant-Smith."
"Oh!" said Louie. "Then you're right. We have met before, at Mallard Bois."
Roy Lovenant-Smith appeared to be so relieved at being rid of a perplexity that he didn't much care if they never met again.
"I thought we had," he said mildly. "You were Louie Chaffinger then. I knew you were."
"But what," Louie asked, "are you doing here?"
He radiated simplicity.
"That centre-board, didn't I tell you? Izzard would make me go halves in the rotten old thing; just look at her; hardly a shroud on the port side, and the centre-board was hitched up with a piece of old rope instead of a chain and down it came the other tea-time. It's the cabin table as well as the centre-board, you see, and the whole thing shut up-just like that——"
He set the inner edges of his hands together and then closed his palms with a slap.
"All the tea—jam and all the lot," he said.