"Yeah ... you stay your side of bed, too. Last night you kick me blacks and blue in rib."
Which was distinctly untrue.
But if that was the way Johnny wanted things ... it was distinctly QX with Timmy Gordon. He stretched himself on the narrow couch beside Johnny. For twenty minutes he seemed to doze, then began kicking about fretfully, and muttering as though in the clutch of a nightmare.
"That's right, Timmy," the little Greek whispered. "Keep her going. You kicks hard ... yells ... them spies are too busy watching you. I can talks."
Timmy's reply was another boot to Johnny's shin. "Go on," he whispered, then kicked again.
"Remember what I say to you in ships?"
"About what?"
"About fool gods Neptune ... cataltickic agents ... Aristotle."
"Yes."
"Maybe I are right."