Now when he was stupid enough to let himself be talked into playing, it was back to the old hut again. He pushed open the glass-panelled door and stepped into the social room. Tea and sandwiches were being served. 'Hello, Connie,' called Hurst, the club captain. 'Been over at the Fourths? How did they get on?' Connon realized he did not know. He could not even recollect the score when he had left the field. 'I don't know how it ended,' he said. 'I got a knock and came off early.'

Hurst looked at him in surprise.

'You haven't been playing, have you? Good lord. You'd better have a seat.'

Connon helped himself to a cup of tea.

'I'm only thirty-nine,' he said. 'You're nearly thirty yourself, Peter.' Hurst smiled. He knew, and he knew that Connon knew this was his last season as captain. They won't get me out there, Connie. When I finish, I finish.' 'Sandwich, Connie?' asked one of the girl helpers. Connon recognized her as the girl-friend of the second team full-back. He shook his head, remembering when Mary had used to come down on Saturday afternoon. The catering like everything else had been more primitive then. Once they became wives they stopped coming. Then they tried to stop you coming. Then they even stopped that. 'I won't do it again in a hurry,' he said to Hurst. 'How did you get on?' But Hurst had turned away to talk to some members of the visiting team. The ache was turning again in Connon's head and he put his cup down and went across the room to the door which led into the bar. This was empty except for the club treasurer behind the bar sorting out some bottles. 'Hello, Connie,' he said. 'You're early. You know we don't serve till tea's done and the girls have got cleared up.' That's all right, Sid. I just feel like a quiet sit down. It's rather noisy in there.' He sank into a chair and massaged the side of his head. The treasurer carried on with his work a few moments, then said, 'Are you feeling all right, Connie?'