“Hello? Hello? Hello?” Cora was saying.
George waved Sydney away: an imploring, frantic gesture. Shrugging, Sydney slouched off, and as the booth door closed, a sharp click sounded in George’s ear. Cora had hung up!
Sydney was still hanging about a few yards away, watching George through the glass panels. It was no good! He didn’t dare risk dialling the number again. He was sick with disappointment and frustrated rage. Damn Sydney! Damn the greengrocer! Oh, damn everything!
Tuesday and Wednesday were as had. Both times when George rang he was told that Cora was out. In desperation, he risked calling her on Thursday morning before he went to the King’s Arms, and after some delay Sydney’s voice floated over the line. Hurriedly, as if he had trodden on a snake, George hung up. Five days now and he hadn’t spoken to her or seen her. And he had thought he was never going to be lonely again! It was worse now: far worse.
Before, he didn’t have this clamouring for the flesh, wasn’t tormented by thoughts of loving Cora, holding her in his arms, feeling her smooth cheek against his lips.
He had to do something! This couldn’t go on. His work was suffering. He had only earned thirty bob in five days, while Sydney had made himself seven quid. It infuriated George to hear the way Sydney sneered at seven pounds.
“Chick feed,” he said, when George handed him the money order received from Head Office. “It’s almost time I slung this job in. Seven nicker for slogging my guts out every evening. In the old days I’d do a job that’d take me an hour or so, and pick up twenty quid as easy as kiss your hand.”
“What Job?” George asked curiously.
Sydney brooded. “When things cool off a bit,” he said at last, “maybe I’ll let you in my racket. But right now I’ve got to keep out of sight,” and then, for no apparent reason, he flew into a vicious rage and went off, looking almost murderous.
The more George saw of Sydney the more uneasy he became. The fellow was unbalanced. Perhaps he really was cracked. These sudden vicious tempers, the vicious, fanatical look in his eyes, the mysterious hinting about “his racket” worried George. The thought of Sydney’s razor worried George even more.