and Mike and Robert Cohn. Brett was wearing a Basque beret. So was Mike. Robert Cohn was bare-headed and wearing his spectacles. Brett saw us coming and waved. Her eyes crinkled up as we came up to the table.
"Hello, you chaps!" she called.
Brett was happy. Mike had a way of getting an intensity of feeling into shaking hands. Robert Cohn shook hands because we were back.
"Where the hell have you been?" I asked.
"I brought them up here," Cohn said.
"What rot," Brett said. "We'd have gotten here earlier if you hadn't come."
"You'd never have gotten here."
"What rot! You chaps are brown. Look at Bill."
"Did you get good fishing?" Mike asked. "We wanted to join you."
"It wasn't bad. We missed you."
"I wanted to come," Cohn said, "but I thought I ought to bring them."
"You bring us. What rot."
"Was it really good?" Mike asked. "Did you take many?"
"Some days we took a dozen apiece. There was an Englishman up there."
"Named Harris," Bill said. "Ever know him, Mike? He was in the war, too."
"Fortunate fellow," Mike said. "What times we had. How I wish those dear days were back."
"Don't be an ass."
"Were you in the war, Mike?" Cohn asked.
"Was I not."
"He was a very distinguished soldier," Brett said. "Tell them about the time your horse bolted down Piccadilly."
"I'll not. I've told that four times."
