“Archie!” he said.
“Hallo, old thing!” said Archie. “Still there? I thought you’d died or something. Talk about our old pals, Tongue-tied Thomas and Silent Sammy! You could beat ’em both on the same evening.”
“It’s enough to make me silent.”
“What is?”
Bill had relapsed into a sort of waking dream. He sat frowning sombrely, lost to the world. Archie, having waited what seemed to him a sufficient length of time for an answer to his question, bent forward and touched his brother-in-law’s hand gently with the lighted end of his cigar. Bill came to himself with a howl.
“What is?” said Archie.
“What is what?” said Bill.
“Now listen, old thing,” protested Archie. “Life is short and time is flying. Suppose we cut out the cross-talk. You hinted there was something on your mind—something worrying the old bean—and I’m waiting to hear what it is.”
Bill fiddled a moment with his coffee-spoon.
“I’m in an awful hole,” he said at last.