"I heard my brother saying something about you in the train."
"Who's your brother?"
"Jackson. He's in Donaldson's."
"I know. A stout fellow. So you're the newest make of Jackson, latest model, with all the modern improvements? Are there any more of you?"
"Not brothers," said Mike.
"Pity. You can't quite raise a team, then? Are you a sort of young Tyldesley, too?"
"I played a bit at my last school. Only a private school, you know," added Mike modestly.
"Make any runs? What was your best score?"
"Hundred and twenty-three," said Mike awkwardly. "It was only against kids, you know." He was in terror lest he should seem to be bragging.
"That's pretty useful. Any more centuries?"
"Yes," said Mike, shuffling.
"How many?"
"Seven altogether. You know, it was really awfully rotten bowling. And I was a good bit bigger than most of the chaps there. And my pater always has a pro. down in the Easter holidays, which gave me a bit of an advantage."
"All the same, seven centuries isn't so dusty against any bowling. We shall want some batting in the house this term. Look here, I was just going to have some tea. You come along, too."
"Oh, thanks awfully," said Mike. "My brother and Firby-Smith have gone to a place called Cook's."
"The old Gazeka? I didn't know he lived in your part of the world. He's head of Wain's."
"Yes, I know," said Mike. "Why is he called Gazeka?" he asked after a pause.
"Don't you think he looks like one? What did you think of him?"
"I didn't speak to him much," said Mike cautiously. It is always delicate work answering a question like this
