"He can't; a dock's a hole."
"Well, anyway, he's waiting." A short silence, during which she wrinkled her forehead.
"Wharf, then! William Brown's——"
"I should think Brown was synonymous with synopsis," said I absent-mindedly.
"Some people have no dictionary knowledge," sniffed Cynthia. "He is, really."
"Is what?"
"Waiting. We're going to keep house."
"On what?"
"What? On what?"
"Keep house on what?"