Then in a flash Mike understood. He was not by nature intuitive, but he
read Psmith's mind now. Since the term began, he and Psmith had been
acting on precisely similar motives. Just as he had been disappointed of
the captaincy of cricket at Wrykyn, so had Psmith been disappointed of
his place in the Eton team at Lord's. And they had both worked it off,
each in his own way--Mike sullenly, Psmith whimsically, according to
their respective natures--on Sedleigh.
If Psmith, therefore, did not consider it too much of a climb-down to
renounce his resolution not to play for Sedleigh, there was nothing to
stop Mike doing so, as--at the bottom of his heart--he wanted to do.
"By Jove," he said, "if you're playing, I'll play. I'll write a note to
Adair now. But, I say"--he stopped--"I'm hanged if I'm going to turn out
and field before breakfast tomorrow."
"That's all right. You won't have to. Adair won't be there himself. He's
not playing against the M.C.C. He's sprained his wrist."
27
IN WHICH PEACE IS DECLARED
"Sprained his wrist?" said Mike. "How did he do that?"
"During the brawl. Apparently one of his efforts got home on your elbow
instead of your expressive countenance, and whether it was that your
elbow was particularly tough or his wrist particularly fragile, I don't
know.
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