Mike to tea in his study one afternoon before going to the nets.
Mike arrived, sidling into the study in the half-sheepish, half-defiant manner peculiar to small brothers in the presence of their elders, and stared in silence at the photographs on the walls. Bob was changing into his cricket things. The atmosphere was one of constraint and awkwardness.
The arrival of tea was the cue for conversation.
"Well, how are you getting on?" asked Bob.
"Oh, all right," said Mike.
Silence.
"Sugar?" asked Bob.
"Thanks," said Mike.
"How many lumps?"
"Two, please."
"Cake?"
"Thanks."
Silence.
Bob pulled himself together.
"Like Wain's?"
"Ripping."
"I asked Firby-Smith to keep an eye on you," said Bob.
"What!" said Mike.
The mere idea of a worm like the Gazeka being told to keep an eye on him was degrading.
"He said he'd look after you," added Bob, making things worse.
Look after him! Him!! M. Jackson, of the third eleven!!!
Mike helped himself to another chunk of cake, and spoke crushingly.
"He needn't trouble," he said. "I can look after myself all right, thanks."
Bob saw an opening for the entry of the Heavy Elder Brother.
"Look here, Mike," he said, "I'm only saying it for your good"
