“Hullo?”
“Do you remember that kids’ school we went to before Eton?”
“Quite. It was there I won my Scripture prize.”
“Never mind about your Scripture prize. I’m not talking about your Scripture prize. Do you recollect the Bosher incident?”
I did, indeed. It was one of the high spots of my youth.
“Major-General Sir Wilfred Bosher came to distribute the prizes at that school,” proceeded Gussie in a dull, toneless voice. “He dropped a book. He stooped to pick it up. And, as he stooped, his trousers split up the back.”
“How we roared!”
Gussie’s face twisted.
“We did, little swine that we were. Instead of remaining silent and exhibiting a decent sympathy for a gallant officer at a peculiarly embarrassing moment, we howled and yelled with mirth. I loudest of any. That is what will happen to me this afternoon, Bertie. It will be a judgment on me for laughing like that at Major-General Sir Wilfred Bosher.”
“No, no, Gussie, old man. Your trousers won’t split.”