“He is snoring a bit, what? Does it annoy you? Shall I stir him?”      

       “You seem to have an extraordinary brutal streak in your nature,” said Sally. “You appear to think of nothing else but schemes for harassing poor Jules. Leave him alone for a second, and start telling me about yourself.”      

       “Where shall I start?”      

       “Well, not with your childhood, I think. We'll skip that.”      

       “Well...” Ginger Kemp knitted his brow, searching for a dramatic opening.       “Well, I'm more or less what you might call an orphan, like you. I mean to say, both my people are dead and all that sort of thing.”      

       “Thanks for explaining. That has made it quite clear.”      

       “I can't remember my mother. My father died when I was in my last year at Cambridge. I'd been having a most awfully good time at the 'varsity,'”        said Ginger, warming to his theme. “Not thick, you know, but good. I'd got my rugger and boxing blues and I'd just been picked for scrum-half for England against the North in the first trial match, and between ourselves it really did look as if I was more or less of a snip for my international.”      

       Sally gazed at him wide eyed.     

       “Is that good or bad?” she asked.     

       “Eh?”      

       “Are you reciting a catalogue of your crimes, or do you expect me to get up and cheer? What is a rugger blue, to start with?”      

       “Well, it's... it's a rugger blue, you know.”      

       “Oh, I see,” said Sally. “You mean a rugger blue.”      

       “I mean to say, I played rugger—footer—that's to say, football—Rugby football—for Cambridge, against Oxford. I was scrum-half.”      

       “And what is a scrum-half?” asked Sally, patiently. “Yes, I know you're going to say it's a scrum-half, but can't you make it easier?”      

       “The scrum-half,” said Ginger, “is the half who works the scrum. He slings    

 Prev. P 37/224 next