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'Bambury's, Oxford, Gordy's clubs dear old Gordy, gone now! things long passed by; they seemed all round him once again. And yet, always that vague sense, threading this resurrection, threading the smoke of their cigars, and Johnny Dromore's clipped talk of something that did not quite belong.
I've got the hump. It's this damned east wind." Well he remembered it, when they shared a room at 'Bambury's' that hump of Johnny Dromore's, after some reckless spree or bout of teasing.
Johnny Dromore would no better understand that now than when they were at 'Bambury's. Not the smallest good even trying to explain! He looked up at the goggling eyes; he heard the bantering voice: "I say you ARE goin' grey. We're bally old, Lenny! A fellow gets old when he marries." And he answered: "By the way, I never knew that YOU had been."
How queer was the sound of that jerky talk! "You ever see old Fookes now? Been racin' at all? You live in Town? Remember good old Blenker?" And then silence, and then another spurt: "Ever go down to 'Bambury's? Ever go racin'? . . . Come on up to my 'digs. You've got nothin' to do." No persuading Johnny Dromore that a 'what d'you call it' could have anything to do. "Come on, old chap.
If Dromore spoke out his soul, as he used to speak it out at 'Bambury's, he would say: 'You get a pull there; you have a bally good time, I expect. That was the way it took them; just a converse manifestation of the very same feeling towards Art that the pious Philistines had, with their deploring eyebrows and their 'peril to the soul. Babes all!
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