"Hullo, Pleydell, old man. How's things? Don't remember me, I suppose.
Lewis." He mentioned the name of the minor college he had once adorned.
"You were at Magdalen, weren't you?"
Taken completely by surprise, Berry hesitated before replying in a tone
which would have chilled a glacier.
"Er--yes. I'm afraid my memory's not as good as yours. You must excuse
me."
"That's all right," said the other, with a fat laugh. "I was one of the
quiet little mice," he added archly, "and you were always such a gay
dog." To our indescribable delectation he actually thrust a stubby
forefinger into his victim's ribs.
"Er--yes," said Berry, moving his chair as far from his tormentor as
space would permit. "I suppose you were. One of the mice, I think you
said. You know, I still don't seem to remember your face or name. You're
quite sure...."
"Anno Domini," was the cheerful reply. "We're both older, eh? Don't you
remember the night we all----But p'r'aps I oughtn't to tell tales out of
school, ought I, old bean?" Again the forefinger was employed, and its
owner looked round expectantly. Beads of perspiration became visible
upon Berry's forehead, and Jonah and I burst into a roar of laughter.
Greatly encouraged by our mirth, Mr.
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