He was a short, broad young man with a fair
moustache. Mike knew that he had seen him before somewhere, but he could
not place him.
"I played against you, for the Free Foresters last summer. In passing
you seem to be a bit of a free forester yourself, dancing in among my
nesting pheasants."
"I'm frightfully sorry."
"That's all right. Where do you spring from?"
"Of course--I remember you now. You're Prendergast. You made fifty-eight
not out."
"Thanks. I was afraid the only thing you would remember about me was
that you took a century mostly off my bowling."
"You ought to have had me second ball, only cover dropped it."
"Don't rake up forgotten tragedies. How is it you're not at Wrykyn? What
are you doing down here?"
"I've left Wrykyn."
Prendergast suddenly changed the conversation. When a fellow tells you
that he has left school unexpectedly, it is not always tactful to
inquire the reason. He began to talk about himself.
"I hang out down here. I do a little farming and a good deal of
puttering about."
"Get any cricket?" asked Mike, turning to the subject next his heart.
"Only village. Very keen, but no great shakes. By the way, how are you
off for cricket now? Have you ever got a spare afternoon?"
Mike's heart leaped.
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