"No weather at all," says I. "They just have climate. How are things around the shop, though?"
"Very satisfactory," says Piddie, rubbin' his hands.
"Bound to be," says I, "with you and Mr. Robert sittin' on the lid."
With which soothin' josh and a pat on the shoulder, I slips through into the private office, where Mr. Robert sits puffin' a cigarette placid in front of a heaped-up desk. When he sees me, he grins.
"Well, well!" says he, shovin' out the cordial palm. "So the treasure seekers have returned, have they?" And he chuckles.
"Uh-huh!" says I, doin' a little grin on my own account.
"At least," he goes on, "you have a fine tropical complexion to show for your trip. Little else, I presume?"
"Brace yourself, Mr. Robert," says I, "for you got a jolt comin'."
"Why," says he, "you can't mean that—"
I nods.