'Gone! Where's he gone to?'
'Lord's.'
'What lord's?'
Psmith waved his hand gently.
'You misunderstand me. Comrade Jackson has not gone to mix with any member of our gay and thoughtless aristocracy. He has gone to Lord's cricket ground.'
Mr Gregory's beard bristled even more than was its wont.
'What!' he roared. 'Gone to watch a cricket match! Gone—!'
'Not to watch. To play. An urgent summons I need not say. Nothing but an urgent summons could have wrenched him from your very delightful society, I am sure.'
Mr Gregory glared.
'I don't want any of your impudence,' he said.