BOB (cheered, but not convinced). I don't know; it looks devilish bad, what I can make of it.
GERALD. Well, let's see what I can make of it.
BOB (trying not to show his eagerness). I was wondering if you would. Come up on Monday and we'll have a go at it together. Marcus has gone, of course. Probably halfway to South America by now. (Bitterly) Or wherever you go to.
GERALD. Right-o! At least, I can't come on Monday, of course, but we'll have a go at it on Thursday.
BOB. Why can't you come on Monday?
GERALD. Well, the Surrey match.
BOB (bitterly). I suppose as long as you beat Surrey, it doesn't matter if I go to prison.
GERALD (annoyed). Oh, shut up about going to prison! There's not the slightest chance of your going to prison. You know perfectly well, if there were, that I'd walk on my hands and knees to London to-night to try and stop it. As it is, I have promised to play for the county; it's a particularly important match, and I don't think it's fair to let them down. Anyway, if I did, the whole family would want to know why, and I don't suppose you want to tell them that yet.
BOB (mumbling). You could say the Foreign Office had rung you up.
GERALD (earnestly). Really, Bob old boy, I'm sure you're making too much of it. Dammit! you've done nothing wrong; what is there to worry about? And if it's only a question of money, we'll manage it on our heads, somehow. I'll come up directly the match is over. It may be Tuesday night, with luck.