“Roger. He isn't dead, at all. He's here.”
There was a moment's startled silence; then Giles said in a voice quivering with amusement: “But what a disaster!”
“Yes, it's awful. We don't in the least know what to do about it.”
“My poor Tony, I'm afraid there's nothing you can do.”
“It's all very well for you to laugh, but he says he's going to stay with us until you advance him some money. So do you think you could bring round some at once? He wants fifty pounds, but I should think twenty would do. He hasn't got any clothes.”
“What, none at all?”
“No - that is, yes, you idiot, of course he has! But no pyjamas, or things.”
“How very like him!” said Giles.
“I daresay, but the point is we don't want him here, and he won't go unless he has some cash.”
“My dear girl, I can't possibly do anything about it at a moment's notice!”