. . ."
3
White sat far into the night and for several nights turning over
papers and rummaging in untidy drawers. Memories came back to him
of his dead friend and pieced themselves together with other
memories and joined on to scraps in this writing. Bold yet
convincing guesses began to leap across the gaps. A story shaped
itself. . . .
The story began with the schoolfellow he had known at
Minchinghampton School.
Benham had come up from his father's preparatory school at Seagate.
He had been a boy reserved rather than florid in his acts and
manners, a boy with a pale face, incorrigible hair and brown eyes
that went dark and deep with excitement. Several times White had
seen him excited, and when he was excited Benham was capable of
tensely daring things. On one occasion he had insisted upon walking
across a field in which was an aggressive bull. It had been put
there to prevent the boys taking a short cut to the swimming place.
It had bellowed tremendously and finally charged him. He had dodged
it and got away; at the time it had seemed an immense feat to White
and the others who were safely up the field.
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