“Yes, I am. Shut up; I’m just coming to the wings. Adams said I was fussing over him too much, and tying a string to his leg, and clipping his wings, when it was time for him to fly about as he damn pleased. (Lord, Jev would have got whacked for that!) But, you see, he’s turning out rather a fetching kid—good-looking, you know, and all that, and I’m not going to have him taken up by some brute and spoiled. However, any one who tries will have a nasty time with me first. But I suppose Adams is right: Jev’s got to begin looking after himself. I’m rather sorry in a way though. It’s good sport looking after a kid like that, and seeing it doesn’t come to any harm. He’s an affectionate little beggar, too, and I believe he knows it would make me pretty sick if he got into beastly ways. I say, I’m afraid I’m talking like a missionary.” “On the plains of Timbuctoo,” remarked Bags. “Yes, anywhere. Rum fellow you are, Bags. You let me jaw to any extent without yawning or telling me to shut it. But there are such a lot of frightfully interesting things that you must talk about in order to find out what you really think. Jev, for instance: I had no idea that I was a missionary till I began to jaw. By the way, my father is coming down for the Old Boys’ match next week. D’you remember that awful morning when he bowled into the wrong net at Helmsworth and how ashamed I was? Funny how one changes: I should just love it if he did it again now, because it’s so jolly sporting of him to try to bowl at all. My sister’s coming, too, and of course Frank will be here playing for the Old Boys. What a family! They all love Frank at home; he and my father are tremendous pals: they talk about Norman and Perpendicular and Transitional till all’s blue. He stayed with us most of the Christmas holidays, you know, when his mother was abroad.” David sat up again. “Lord, what a lot of things there are!” he said appreciatively. “Not to mention Her,” said Bags. “No. Oh, by the way, I saw her coming out of Madden’s the photographer’s the other day. Do you suppose she’d been done? By Jove, shouldn’t I like one?” “Well, ask her then,” said Bags with infinite patience. David knitted his forehead into a diplomatic frown. “I couldn’t straight off like that,” he said. “But I might lead up to it. I might say I thought Madden took jolly good photographs, and see what she said.” “Suppose she said that she thought he didn’t,” said Bags wearily. “Well, I could say that—that no one could do justice to some people. Or is that laying it on rather thick? Oh, by the way, I’ve been devilish cunning. The Head told me that my last iambics were pretty rotten, and that I’d better have some private tuition, so I asked if I might go to old Gray for it. Jolly smart, that. So I’m going to drop French and have private tu with Gray, beginning to-morrow.” “‘Come into the garden, Maud,’” remarked Bags.