“That Brant girl!” How dare a greengrocer talk like that! Well, anyway, it wouldn’t he long now. Any second he would be hearing her voice.
“You doing your selling by ’phone?” Sydney asked.
George nearly jumped out of his skin, he whirled round, his face turning crimson, to find Sydney lolling against the telephone booth, watching him with suspicious, calculating eyes.
“I shan’t be a minute,” George spluttered, not knowing which way to look. “I’ll be right out,” and he tried to pull the door to, but Sydney had wedged it hack with his foot.
“What’s all this telephoning about?” Sydney asked. “Yesterday and now today. I thought you were a keen salesman.”
“Hello?” Cora said in George’s ear.
George looked from Sydney to the telephone mouthpiece. Sweat was running down his face. He didn’t know what to do.
“Hello? Who’s there?” Cora asked, her voice snappy and impatient.
He daren’t speak to her with Sydney listening. Damn the rotted George thought desperately. Why can’t he go away!
“’Phoning your best girl?” Sydney asked, a sneering grin on his face. “I wish you could see your mug! You look like a pickpocket caught in the act. Well, I won’t embarrass you; only time’s getting on, you know.”