They had been at school together, though Freddie was the younger by
several years.

"Finished, Freddie?" asked Derek.

Freddie smiled wanly,

"We are not breakfasting this morning," he replied. "The spirit was
willing, but the jolly old flesh would have none of it. To be
perfectly frank, the Last of the Rookes has a bit of a head."

"Ass!" said Derek.

"A bit of sympathy," said Freddie, pained, "would not be out of
place. We are far from well. Some person unknown has put a
threshing-machine inside the old bean and substituted a piece of
brown paper for our tongue. Things look dark and yellow and wobbly!"

"You shouldn't have overdone it last night."

"It was Algy Martyn's birthday," pleaded Freddie.

"If I were an ass like Algy Martyn," said Derek, "I wouldn't go about
advertising the fact that I'd been born. I'd hush it up!"

He helped himself to a plentiful portion of kedgeree, Freddie
watching him with repulsion mingled with envy. When he began to eat,
the spectacle became too poignant for the sufferer, and he wandered
to the window.