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have been got rid of, Butley thinks it hasn't done

The Luncheon Tent stood on that part of the field
where the Flower Show ended and the swings and
roundabouts began. Although the meal was an in-
formal affair, there was shy solemnity in the faces of
most of the players as they filtered out of the bright
sunshine into the sultry, half-lit interior, where the
perspiring landlord of the "Chequers" and his
buxom wife were bustling about at the climax of their
preparations. While the cricketers were shuffling
themselves awkwardly into their places, the brawny
barman (who seemed to take catering less seriously
than his employers) sharpened the carving-knife on a
steel prong with a rasping sound that set one's teeth
on edge while predicting satisfactory slices of lamb
and beef, to say nothing of veal and ham pie and a
nice bit of gammon of bacon.

As soon as all were seated Dodd created silence by
rapping the table; he then put on his churchwarden
face and looked toward Parson Yalden, who was in
readiness to take his cue. He enunciated the grace
in slightly unparsonic tones, which implied that he
was not only Rector of Rotherden, but also a full
member of the M.C.G. and first cousin once removed
to Lord Chatwynd. Parson Yalden's parishioners
occasionally complained that he paid more attention
to cricket and pheasant shooting than was fit and
proper. But as long as he could afford to keep a hard-
working curate he rightly considered it his own affair
if he chose to spend three days a week playing in
club and country-house matches all over the county.