Gerald nodded. “I thought he seemed to have the dumps this evening,” he murmured thoughtfully. “Do you know, Arthur, I’m a bit worried about Dan.” Arthur looked a question and Gerald continued: “He isn’t the same chap he was last year. He’s cross about half the time, and nervous as a—a—”
“As a hen. Hens are awfully nervous, Gerald.”
“Yes, he is. He worries all the time because he’s afraid Broadwood may lick us, and every time a player stubs his toe or skins his knuckles Dan has a fit.”
“I know.” Arthur nodded. “What he needs is the rest cure. He ought to take my place for a week.”
“I wish he could,” said Gerald.
“So do I!”
“He said he was coming over here later to see how you were.”
“Well, I’ll have to be smiling and happy or he will jump into the river, I suppose,” Arthur growled. “Oh, hang the luck, anyway!”
“I’m awfully sorry,” said Gerald sympathetically. “If you want anything while you’re laid up, or if there’s anything I can do—”
“Thanks. There isn’t, though. Hello! Come in!”