“I stopped in at your roost and your new man told me you were away and might be gone indefinitely. Funny chap, your new man. Mysterious sort of manner. Where’d you pick him up?”
“Oh, Lord! Hainer!” exclaimed Banneker appreciatively. “Well, he told the truth.”
“You look pulled down, too, by Jove!” commented Cressey, concern on his sightly face. “Ridin’ for a fall, aren’t you?”
“Only for a test. I’m going to let up next week.”
“Tell you what,” proffered Cressey. “Let’s do a day together. Say Wednesday, eh? I’m giving a little dinner that night. And, oh, I say! By the way—no: never mind that. You’ll come, won’t you? It’ll be at The Retreat.”
“Yes: I’ll come. I’ll be playing polo that afternoon.”
“Not if Jim Maitland sees you first. He’s awfully sore on you for not turning up to practice. Had a place for you on the second team.”
“Don’t want it. I’m through with polo.”
“Ban! What the devil—”
“Work, I tell you. Next season I may be able to play. For the present I’m off everything.”