The tea-bell, however, relieved the tension, “Come,” said the hostess. “You must take one another in. No, that won’t do, all Mr Wakefield’s boys together. Two of you come this side—that’s right; and Cottle and Ramshaw, you go over there. Now, you’re beautifully sorted. Edward, dear, you mustn’t talk till you’ve handed round the tea-cake to our guests. Lickford, do you take cream and sugar? And you too, twins? Oh really, dear, you don’t call those slices, do you? Do let Ashby cut up the cake; I’m sure he knows better than you what a slice is; don’t you, Ashby?”
Apparently Ashby did; and the party, thus genially thrown together and set to work, soon began, to experience the balmy influences of a convivial high tea.
Very little was spoken at first except by Mr Stratton, who gave a brief account of a University cricket match in which he had once played—a narrative which served as a most soothing refrain to the silent exercise in which his listeners were engaged. Presently a few questions were put in by the boys, followed by a few observations which gradually, by the adroit piloting of the host, loyally backed up by his wife, developed into a discussion on the use and abuse of “third man up” in modern cricket. After this knotty point was disposed of the talk grew more general, and Wally became aware that his brother was handing him the apricot jam.
The act, simple in itself, meant a great deal to Wally. He liked apricot jam, and had not been able to get at it all the evening. As he now helped himself he admitted to himself that Percy was not quite such a lout as he had occasionally thought him.
“Thanks awfully, Percy. Did you like that toffee I gave you the other day?”
“Rather. It was spiffing,” said Percy. “I say, I don’t mind writing home this week if you like.”
“Oh, don’t you grind; I will.”
“Really I don’t mind.”
“No more do I. I say, can you reach the butter?”
“Rather. Better rinse this dish up here between us. There’s another down there.”