"Miss McCalmont's been transferred."
"You don't say," says he, leaning easy against the doorpost. "Since when is that?"
"Since I came," I answered.
He grinned, showing teeth as white as split almonds, and his eyes over the grin began to size me up, shrewd and curious. Taking him for some fresh guy that Miss McCalmont was jollying along—they do that too—I paid no attention to him, humming a tune and looking languid at my finger nails. He wasn't phazed a little bit, but making himself comfortable against the doorpost, said:
"Going to stay on here?"
"The central'll give you all the information you want," I answered and wheeling round in my chair looked at the clock. "Ten minutes past six. How slow the time goes when you're dull."
He burst out laughing and he did have a jolly, infectious kind of laugh.
"Say," he said, "you're a live one, aren't you?"
'Say,' he said, 'you're a live one, aren't you?'