"Clumps is a jolly good game," suggested Simpson.

"The last time I was a clump," I said, "I was the first coin paid on
account of the last pair of boots, sandals, or whatnot of the man
who laid the first stone of the house where lived the prettiest aunt
of the man who reared the goose which laid the egg from which came
the goose which provided the last quill pen used by the third man
Shakespeare met on the second Wednesday in June, 1595."

"He mightn't have had an aunt," said Myra, after a minute's profound
thought.

"He hadn't."

"Well, anyhow, one way and another you've had a very adventurous
career, my lad," said Archie. "What happened the last time you
played ludo?"

"When I played clumps," put in Simpson, "I was the favourite spoke
of Hall Caine's first bicycle. They guessed Hall Caine and the
bicycle and the spoke very quickly, but nobody thought of suggesting
the favourite spoke."

Myra went to the window again, and came back with the news that it
would probably be a fine evening.

"Thank you," we all said.

"But I wasn't just making conversation. I have an idea."