"I hate talking about myself, you know," he said.

"So I supposed," said Sally. "That's why I gave you my autobiography
first, to give you no chance of backing out. Don't be such a shrinking
violet. We're all shipwrecked mariners here. I am intensely interested
in your narrative. And, even if I wasn't, I'd much rather listen to it
than to Jules' snoring."

"He is snoring a bit, what? Does it annoy you? Shall I stir him?"

"You seem to have an extraordinary brutal streak in your nature," said
Sally. "You appear to think of nothing else but schemes for harassing
poor Jules. Leave him alone for a second, and start telling me about
yourself."

"Where shall I start?"

"Well, not with your childhood, I think. We'll skip that."

"Well..." Ginger Kemp knitted his brow, searching for a dramatic
opening. "Well, I'm more or less what you might call an orphan, like
you. I mean to say, both my people are dead and all that sort of thing."

"Thanks for explaining. That has made it quite clear."

"I can't remember my mother. My father died when I was in my last
year at Cambridge. I'd been having a most awfully good time at the
'varsity,'" said Ginger, warming to his theme. "Not thick, you know, but
good. I'd got my rugger and boxing blues and I'd just been picked for
scrum-half for England against the North in the first trial match, and
between ourselves it really did look as if I was more or less of a snip
for my international."

Sally gazed at him wide eyed.

"Is that good or bad?" she asked.

"Eh?"

"Are you reciting a catalogue of your crimes, or do you expect me to get
up and cheer? What is a rugger blue, to start with?"

"Well, it's... it's a rugger blue, you know."

"Oh, I see," said Sally. "You mean a rugger blue."

"I mean to say, I played rugger--footer--that's to say, football--Rugby
football--for Cambridge, against Oxford. I was scrum-half."

"And what is a scrum-half?" asked Sally, patiently. "Yes, I know you're
going to say it's a scrum-half, but can't you make it easier?"

"The scrum-half," said Ginger, "is the half who works the scrum. He
slings the pill out to the fly-half, who starts the three-quarters
going. I don't know if you understand?"

"I don't."

"It's dashed hard to explain," said Ginger Kemp, unhappily. "I mean,
I don't think I've ever met anyone before who didn't know what a
scrum-half was."

"Well, I can see that it has something to do with football, so we'll
leave it at that. I