Finally Walter said, “Well?”
“A-bout wea-sel. You ad-vise same?”
Walter shrugged again. “Probably won’t do any good. But sure, why not?”
The Zan left.
Walter could hear his footsteps dying away outside. He grinned. “It might work, Martha,” he said.
“Mar—My name is Grace, Mr Phelan. What might work?”
“My name is Walter, Grace. You might as well get used to it. You know, Grace, you do remind me a lot of Martha. She was my wife. She died a couple of years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” said Grace “But what might work? What were you talking about to the Zan?”
“We’ll know tomorrow,” Walter said. And she couldn’t get another word out of him.
That was the fourth day of the stay of the Zan.