“That’s right. Spadework.”
“It’s a terrific idea, Bertie. It will make all the difference.”
“Quite. But don’t forget that after that it will be up to you. You will have to haul up your slacks and give her the old oil, or my efforts will have been in vain.”
Something of his former Gawd-help-us-ness seemed to return to him. He gasped a bit.
“That’s true. What the dickens shall I say?”
I restrained my impatience with an effort. The man had been at school with me.
“Dash it, there are hundreds of things you can say. Talk about the sunset.”
“The sunset?”
“Certainly. Half the married men you meet began by talking about the sunset.”
“But what can I say about the sunset?”