“What’s up?” Robinson asked, eyeing George keenly. “Very strong and silent this morning, aren’t you? Gotta touch of pox or something?”
“I’m all right,” George said shortly. He disliked Edgar Robinson, while admiring his ability as a salesman.
“That’s the spirit,” Robinson returned, beaming again. “Must have my boys on the top line. The right mental attitude gets the business, you know. If you’re worrying about anything, ’ow can you hope to get orders?” He smiled his horsey smile as Gladys joined them. “Hello, my pretty,” he went on; “’pon my soul, she gets more desirable every day. Wouldn’t you like a little session with our Gladys in the park, George?”
George looked uncomfortable. Sex embarrassed him, and Robinson was always making him feel awkward by his loose talk in mixed society.
“Oh, shut up,” he growled, and without looking at Gladys he muttered, “Give him a mild and hitter, please.”
Robinson grinned. “Glad, my girl, I believe we’ve the privilege of drinking in the company of a virgin. Not being one meself, and knowing from the saucy look in your eye, my pretty, that you’d make no false claims, we knows Who we’re talking abaht, don’t we?”
Gladys giggled, drew another pint of beer and set it before Robinson. She glanced at George’s red face, winked at him and said, “Don’t you take any notice of him. It’s those who talk the most that do the least.”
Robinson dug George in the ribs. “She’s calling you a dirty old man, George,” he cackled. “Maybe you are. What’s your particular vice, old boy? ’Ere Glad, don’t go away; you might learn something.”
“I can’t waste my time talking nonsense with you,” Gladys returned. “I’ve got my work to do.”
When she had gone to the other end of the bar, Robinson stared at her broad hack for a second or so and then winked at George.