“It is just so exactly what it is—to Winkles.”
“Why does he keep on about it? It isn’t his!”
“It’s something called Booming,” said Redwood. “I don’t understand. If it isn’t his, everybody is getting to think it is. Not that that matters.”
“In the event of this ignorant, this ridiculous agitation becoming—Serious,” began Bensington.
“My little boy can’t get on without the stuff,” said Redwood. “I don’t see how I can help myself now. If the worst comes to the worst—”
A slight bouncing noise proclaimed the presence of Winkles. He became visible in the middle of the room rubbing his hands together.
“I wish you’d knock,” said Bensington, looking vicious over the gold rims.
Winkles was apologetic. Then he turned to Redwood. “I’m glad to find you here,” he began; “the fact is—”
“Have you seen about this Royal Commission?” interrupted Redwood.
“Yes,” said Winkles, thrown out. “Yes.”