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We were very close to Nature that night, but in the early morning still closer. I was awakened by the noise of Simpson talking, as I hoped, in his sleep. However, it appeared that he was awake and quite conscious of the things he was saying.

“I can’t help it,” he explained to Archie, who had given expression to the general opinion about it; “these bally wasps are all over me.”

“It’s your own fault,” said Archie. “Why do you egg them on? I don’t have wasps all over ME.”

“Conf–There! I’ve been stung.”

“You’ve been what?”

“Stung.”

“Stung. Where?”

“In the neck.”

“In the neck?” Archie turned over to me. “Simpson,” he said, “has been stung in the neck. Tell Thomas.”

I woke up Thomas. “Simpson,” I said, “has been stung in the neck.”

“Good,” said Thomas, and went to sleep again.

“We’ve told Thomas,” said Archie. “Now, are you satisfied?”

“Get away, you brute,” shouted Simpson, suddenly, and dived under the sheet.

Archie and I lay back and shouted with laughter.

“It’s really very silly of him,” said Archie, “because–go away–because everybody knows that–get away, you ass–that wasps aren’t dangerous unless–confound you–unless–I say, isn’t it time we got up?”

I came up from under my sheet and looked at my watch. “Four-thirty,” I said, dodged a wasp, and went back again.

“We must wait till five-thirty,” said Archie. “Simpson was quite right; he WAS stung, after all. I’ll tell him so.”

He leant out of bed to tell him so, and then thought better of it and retired beneath the sheets.

At five-thirty a gallant little party made its way to the house, its mattresses over its shoulders.

“Gently,” said Archie, as we came in sight of the tennis lawn.

We went very gently. There were only wasps on the tennis lawn, but one does not want to disturb the little fellows.

VI.–A FINAL ARRANGEMENT

“Seeing that this is our last day together,” began Archie–

“Oh, DON’T,” said Myra. “I can’t bear it.”

“Seeing that this is our first day together, we might have a little tournament of some kind, followed by a small distribution of prizes. What do you think, Dahlia?”

“Well, I daresay I can find something.”

“Any old thing that we don’t want will do; nothing showy or expensive. Victory is its own reward.”

“Yes, but if there IS a pot of home-made marmalade going with it,” I said, “so much the better.”

“Dahlia, earmark the marmalade for this gentleman. Now, what’s it going to be? Golf, Simpson?”

“Why, of course,” said Myra. “Hasn’t he been getting it ready for days?”

“That will give him an unfair advantage,” I pointed out. “He knows every single brick on the greens.”

“Oh, I say, there aren’t any greens yet,” protested Simpson. “That’ll take a year or two. But I’ve marked out white circles and you have to get inside them.”

“I saw him doing that,” said Archie. “I was afraid he expected us to play prisoners’ base with him.”

The game fixed upon, we proceeded to draw for partners.

“You’ll have to play with me, Archie,” said Dahlia, “because I’m no good at all.”

“I shall have to play with Myra,” I said, “because I’m no good at all.”

“Oh, I’m very good,” said Myra.

“That looks as though I should have to play with–” “Simpson,” “Thomas,” said Thomas and Simpson together.

“You’re all giving me a lot of trouble,” said Archie, putting his pencil back in his pocket. “I’ve just written your names out neatly on little bits of paper, and now they’re all wasted. You’ll have to stick them on yourselves so that the spectators will know who you are as you whizz past.” He handed his bits of paper round and went in for his clubs.

It was a stroke competition, and each couple went round by itself. Myra and I started last.

“Now we’ve got to win this,” she said, “because we shan’t play together again for a long time.”

“That’s a nice cheery thing to say to a person just when he’s driving. Now I shall have to address the ball all over again.”