“But that means you’re not playing for the second.”
“Of course it does. Well, if you aren’t coming, I’m off.”
“But, look here——”
Barry disappeared through the door. After a moment’s pause, M’Todd followed him. He came up with him on the senior gravel.
“What’s up?” he inquired.
“Nothing,” said Barry.
“Are you sick about not playing for the second?”
“No.”
“You are, really. Come and have a bun.”
In the philosophy of M’Todd it was indeed a deep-rooted sorrow that could not be cured by the internal application of a new, hot bun. It had never failed in his own case.