P. G. Wodehouse

The Pothunters P. G. Wodehouse

'Where have I seen that face before?' said a voice. Tony Graham looked up from his bag. 'Hullo, Allen,' he said, 'what the dickens are you up here for?' 'I was rather thinking of doing a little boxing. If you've no objection, of course.' 'But you ought to be on a bed of sickness, and that sort of thing. I heard you'd crocked yourself.' 'So I did. Nothing much, though. Trod on myself during a game of fives, and twisted my ankle a bit.' 'In for the middles, of course?' 'Yes.' 'So am I.' 'Yes, so I saw in the Sportsman. It says you weigh eleven-three.'