“Freeze out everybody and put Sue across himself. What's that guy's is his. Findings is keepings.”
“But will Sue let him freeze Zanin out?”
“That's a point.... But if she won't, he'll he wise in a minute. Trust Silverstone! He'll let Zanin think he's in, then.”
“Things look worse, I take it.”
“A lot.”
Hy was undressing. He sat now, caught by a sudden fragrant memory, holding a shoe in midair, and chuckled again.
“Stop that cackle!” growled Peter. “You said you fixed it.”
“I did. Quit abusing me and you'll realize that I'm coming through with all you could ask. We leave at eleven, Hudson Tunnel, for the Jersey hills—we four. I bring the girls; you meet us at the Tunnel. Zanin is safe at Long Beach. We eat at a country road house. We walk miles in the open country. We drift home in the evening, God knows when!... Here I hand you, in one neat parcel, pleasant hillsides, purling brooks, twelve mortal hours of the blessed damosel, and”—he caught up the evening paper—“'fair and warmer'—and perfect weather. And what do I get? Abuse. Nothing but abuse!”
With this, he deftly juggled his two shoes, caught both in a final flourish, looked across at the abject Peter and grinned.
“Shut up,” muttered Peter wearily.