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letter said was so true; and yet, I wondered, was it
really possible for P.G.P. to tell me what was
best for my future? His letter had one effect which
would have astonished him. Worried and put out of
temper by it, I slouched to the wicket after lunch
without caring a hoot whether I stayed there or not.
The result was that, favoured by a fair amount of
luck, I "carted" the bowling all over the field; at the
end of our innings I was not out forty-three. This
was the highest score I had ever made for the village;
and, although we lost the match by five wickets, I
finished the day in a glow of self-satisfaction which
was undamped by a tremendous thunderstorm which
overtook us on our way home.

Mr. Pennett's procedure for bringing me to my
senses about "an University degree" was an excellent
example of preaching to the winds. Good advice
seldom sinks into the wayward mind of a young man,
and in this case the carefully composed phrases meant
nothing to me. The utmost I could do was to trans-
mute his prudent precepts into some such sentiment
as this: "The silly old blighter is trying to make me
stay up at Cambridge when I'm absolutely fed up
with the whole concern." Not that I made any
serious attempt to "carefully reconsider" my decision.
I had not yet begun to train myself to think rationally
about anything. No one was ever less capable of
putting two and two together than I was. And he
made a strategic mistake when he adjured me to
"look ahead".

I very much doubt whether anybody wants to
look ahead unless he is anxious to escape from one