"Look," said Mike, "when do you go down to Spain? Would you mind if we came down with you?"
"It would be grand."
"You wouldn't mind, really? I've been at Pamplona, you know. Brett's mad to go. You're sure we wouldn't just be a bloody nuisance?"
"Don't talk like a fool."
"I'm a little tight, you know. I wouldn't ask you like this if I weren't. You're sure you don't mind?"
"Oh, shut up, Michael," Brett said. "How can the man say he'd mind now? I'll ask him later."
"But you don't mind, do you?"
"Don't ask that again unless you want to make me sore. Bill and I go down on the morning of the 25th."
"By the way, where is Bill?" Brett asked.
"He's out at Chantilly dining with some people."
"He's a good chap."
"Splendid chap," said Mike. "He is, you know."
"You don't remember him," Brett said.
"I do. Remember him perfectly. Look, Jake, we'll come down the night of the 25th. Brett can't get up in the morning."
"Indeed not!"
"If our money comes and you're sure you don't mind."
"It will come, all right. I'll see to that."
"Tell me what tackle to send for."
"Get two or three rods with reels, and lines, and some flies."
"I won't fish," Brett put in.
"Get two rods, then, and Bill won't have to buy one."
"Right," said Mike. "I'll send a wire to the keeper."
"Won't it be splendid," Brett said. "Spain! We will have fun."
"The 25th. When is that?"
"Saturday."
"We will have to get ready."
