"How did he get to know? Why did you tell him?"
"He got it out of me. I couldn't choke him off, He came down when you were away at Geddington, and would insist on having a look at my arm, and naturally he spotted right away there was nothing the matter with it. So it came out; that's how it was."
Bob scratched thoughtfully at the turf with a spike of his boot.
"Of course, it was awfully decent"
Then again the monstrous nature of the affair came home to him.
"But what did you do it for? Why should you rot up your own chances to give me a look in?"
"Oh, I don't know… You know, you did me a jolly good turn."
"I don't remember. When?"
"That Firby-Smith business."
"What about it?"
"Well, you got me out of a jolly bad hole."
"Oh, rot! And do you mean to tell me it was simply because of that?"
Mike appeared to him in a totally new light. He stared at him as if he were some strange creature hitherto unknown to the human race. Mike shuffled uneasily beneath the scrutiny.
"Anyhow, it's all over now," Mike said, "so I don't see what's the point of talking about it."
"I'm hanged if it is. You don't think I'm going to sit tight and take my first as if nothing had happened?"
"What can you do? The list's up. Are you going to the Old Man to ask him if I can play, like Lionel Tremayne?"
The hopelessness of the situation came over Bob like a wave. He looked helplessly at Mike.
"Besides," added Mike, "I shall get in next year all right. Half a second, I just want to speak to Wyatt about something."
He sidled off.
