"What were you saying about John?"
"I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going home quick, so as to be among those present when he starts scattering the stuff. It's quite on the cards that I may scoop that five hundred yet. Once a tightwad starts seeing the light...."
"You were saying something about John," said Pat, falling into step with him as he moved off. His babble irked her, making her wish that she could put the clock back a few years. Age, they say, has its compensations, but one of the drawbacks of becoming grown-up and sedate is that you have to abandon the childish practice of clumping your friends on the side of the head when they wander from the point. However, she was not too old to pinch her companion in the fleshy part of the arm, and she did so.
"Ouch!" said Hugo, coming out of his trance.
"What about John?"
Hugo massaged his arm tenderly. The look of a greyhound pursuing an electric hare died out of his eyes.
"Of course, yes. John. Glad you reminded me. Have you seen John lately?"
"No. I'm not allowed to go to the Hall, and he seems too busy to come and see me."
"It isn't so much being busy. Don't forget there's a war on. No doubt he's afraid of bumping into the parent."
"If Johnnie's scared of Father...."