“Nonsense! I promised once to be his friend, that’s all. Do send the telegram soon. And now tell me who’s the pale man talking to Clarke?”
“A fellow called Reader—one of the cleverest men we’ve got.”
“He looks half-starved!”
“Yes; I’m afraid he’s—I mean, I don’t think he takes proper care of himself.”
“Pity,” said Charlie. “I say, old man, this is rare steak! Give us a bit more. What time does the match begin?”
“At two. You old beggar! see if I don’t pay off some old scores before the day’s over.”
“I thought you told me once your people didn’t fancy your going in for athletics?”
“No more they do. I expect a stinger by this post; but I shall not open it till after the match. What matches we used to have at Randlebury!”
“Didn’t we!”
“And do you remember what an ass you used to make of yourself over that precious silver watch of yours?”