"Harry?"
"Your son."
"Oh."
"He goes to bed at eight o'clock."
He made the automatic adjustment. Twenty hundred hours. "Is he well?"
"Couldn't be better. Eats well and everything."
"Like his old man, huh?"
"You want to come in?" But she stood blocking the doorway.
"No, don't bother. Have you a solidio of him or something?"
"I'll get it."