Leave us, Adair. We would brood. 'Oh, go thee, knave, I'll none of
thee.' Shakespeare."
Psmith turned away, and resting his elbows on the mantelpiece, gazed at
himself mournfully in the looking glass.
"I'm not the man I was," he sighed, after a prolonged inspection. "There
are lines on my face, dark circles beneath my eyes. The fierce rush of
life at Sedleigh is wasting me away."
"Stone and I had a discussion about early-morning fielding practice,"
said Adair, turning to Mike.
Mike said nothing.
"I thought his fielding wanted working up a bit, so I told him to turn
out at six tomorrow morning. He said he wouldn't, so we argued it out.
He's going to all right. So is Robinson."
Mike remained silent.
"So are you," said Adair.
"I get thinner and thinner," said Psmith from the mantelpiece.
Mike looked at Adair, and Adair looked at Mike, after the manner of two
dogs before they fly at one another. There was an electric silence in
the study. Psmith peered with increased earnestness into the glass.
"Oh?" said Mike at last. "What makes you think that?"
"I don't think. I know."
"Any special reason for my turning out?"
"Yes."
"What's that?"
"You're going to play for the school against the M.
Pages:
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213