"Yes, yes. It's really--wonderful. Meredith--I mean--well, it's simply--(_after a pause_) wonderful." "You see Meredith there most?" "Y-yes. Sometimes. And then (_with truth_) sometimes I--I don't. It's difficult to say. Sometimes I--er--Shaw--er--well, it's--" (_with a gesture somewhat Gallic_) "How can I put it?" "Not Thackeray at all?" he says, watching me eagerly. I decide to risk it. "Oh, but of course! I mean--Thackeray! When I said Meredith I was thinking of the _others_. But Thackeray--I mean Thackeray _is_--er--" (_I've forgotten the author's name for the moment and go on hastily_) "I mean--er--Thackeray, obviously." He shakes me by the hand. I am his friend. But this conversation only takes place in my more hopeful moments. In my less hopeful ones I see myself going into the country for quite a long time. III. SUMMER DAYS A SONG FOR THE SUMMER _Is it raining_? Never mind-- Think how much the birdies love it! See them in their dozens drawn, Dancing, to the croquet lawn-- Could our little friends have dined If there'd been no worms above it? _Is it murky_? What of that, If the Owls are fairly perky? Just imagine you were one-- Wouldn't you _detest_ the sun? I'm pretending I'm a Bat, And I know I _like_ it murky. _Is it chilly_? After all, We must not forget the Poodle. If the days were really hot, Could he wear _one_ woolly spot? Could he even keep his shawl? No, he'd shave the whole caboodle. THE SEASON'S PROSPECTS The great question in the Mallory family just now is whether Dick will get into the eleven this year. Confident as he is himself, he is taking no risks. "We're going to put the net up to-morrow," he said to me as soon as I arrived, "and then you'll be able to bowl to me. How long are you staying?" "Till to-night," I said quickly. "Rot! You're fixed up here till Tuesday any how." "My dear Dick, I've come down for a few days' rest. If the weather permits, I may have the croquet things out one afternoon and try a round, or possibly--" "I don't believe you _can_ bowl," said Bobby rudely. Bobby is twelve--five years younger than Dick. It is not my place to smack Bobby's head, but _somebody_ might do it for him. "Then that just shows how little you know about it," I retorted. "In a match last September I went on to bowl--" "Why?" "I knew the captain," I explained. "Well, as I say, he asked me to go on to bowl, and I took four wickets for thirteen runs. There!" "Good man," said Dick. "Was it against a girls' school?" said Bobby. (You know, Bobby is simply _asking_ for it.) "It was not. Nor were children of twelve allowed in without their perambulators." "Well, anyhow," said Bobby, "I bet Phyllis can bowl better than you." "Is this true?" I said to Phyllis. I asked her, because in a general way my bowling is held to be superior to that of girls of fifteen. Of course, she might be something special. "I can bowl Bobby out," she said modestly.