In the same situation a few years before, Mike would have carried on,
and trusted to speed to save him. But now there seemed a lack of
dignity in the action. He came back to where the man was standing.
"I'm sorry if I'm trespassing," he said. "I was just having a look
round."
"The dickens you--Why, you're Jackson!"
Mike looked at him. He was a short, broad young man with a fair
moustache. Mike knew that he had seen him before somewhere, but he
could not place him.
"I played against you, for the Free Foresters last summer. In passing,
you seem to be a bit of a free forester yourself, dancing in among my
nesting pheasants."
"I'm frightfully sorry."
"That's all right. Where do you spring from?"
"Of course--I remember you now. You're Prendergast. You made
fifty-eight not out."
"Thanks. I was afraid the only thing you would remember about me was
that you took a century mostly off my bowling."
"You ought to have had me second ball, only cover dropped it."
"Don't rake up forgotten tragedies. How is it you're not at Wrykyn?
What are you doing down here?"
"I've left Wrykyn."
Prendergast suddenly changed the conversation. When a fellow tells you
that he has left school unexpectedly, it is not always tactful to
inquire the reason. He began to talk about himself.
"I hang out down here.
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