My eloquence convinced him. However, to return
to the point under discussion, why not?"
"I don't ... What I mean to say ..." began Mike.
"If your trouble is," said Psmith, "that you fear that you may be in
unworthy company--"
"Don't be an ass."
"--Dismiss it. _I_ am playing."
Mike stared.
"You're _what? You_?"
"I," said Psmith, breathing on a coat button, and polishing it with his
handkerchief.
"Can you play cricket?"
"You have discovered," said Psmith, "my secret sorrow."
"You're rotting."
"You wrong me, Comrade Jackson."
"Then why haven't you played?"
"Why haven't you?"
"Why didn't you come and play for Lower Borlock, I mean?"
"The last time I played in a village cricket match I was caught at point
by a man in braces. It would have been madness to risk another such
shock to my system. My nerves are so exquisitely balanced that a thing
of that sort takes years off my life."
"No, but look here, Smith, bar rotting. Are you really any good at
cricket?"
"Competent judges at Eton gave me to understand so. I was told that this
year I should be a certainty for Lord's. But when the cricket season
came, where was I? Gone.
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