"Why, 'til I'm old enough to work. Eighteen, I guess."
Only six years to go, Ron thought sourly.
He stood up.
"Andy—where do they put the PF's?"
"In the shed."
"Is it possible to get one out?"
"'Course not. Only when we play the game."
"And when will we play another game?"
"Dunno. Tomorrow maybe. It's Sunday."
Play the game. Ron said to himself.