They were panting along down the grassy track, their spiked shoes picking up every leaf until their soles were absolutely clogged with the stuff.
It was one of those exhausting cross-country events which only fanatics go in for, and Prideaux senior was leading the field, with Biffkins panting behind him.
Suddenly Prideaux senior gave up. He stopped dead. Biffkins panted by him, breasting the upward slope that led out of the wood into a field full of chewing cows.
"It’s all right, Biffkins,” said Prideaux, “I’ll catch you up.”
Crafty devil. He didn’t say a word to Biffkins that he’d seen a gorgeous blonde perilously near some barbed wire, and poor old Biffkins just panted on and never knew what he’d missed.
What had he missed?
A corker. CAROLE-ANNE BLAKE is a London model with lovely shape and a winsome twinkle. Prideaux senior introduced himself and said, “Just thought I’d tell you about the barbed wire.”
“Oh thanks,” said Carole-Anne, “but I know about it.”
Still, she thought, he was an awfully decent young feller to point it out to her and they had a long chat about wildflowers, and Prideaux said he collected stamps as well.
Good old Prideaux senior.
