“Where do we want passports for?”
“England and Italy.”
“When are we leaving?”
“As soon as we get the passports. Tonight if possible. Can we make the noon plane for Washington?”
I stood up. “Look,” I said, “it’s quite a shock to see a statue turn into a dynamo without warning. Is this just an act?”
“No.”
“You’ve told me over and over not to be impetuous. Why don’t you sit down and count up to a thousand?”
“I am not being impetuous. We should have gone days ago, when we learned he was there. Now it is imperative. Confound it, can we make that plane?”
“No. Nothing doing. God knows what you’ll be eating for the next week — or maybe year — and Fritz is working on shad roe mousse Pocahontas for lunch, and if you miss it you’ll take it out on me. While I phone the airline and get your naturalization certificate and my birth certificate from the safe, you might go and give Fritz a hand since you’re all of a sudden in such a hell of a hurry.”
He was going to say something, decided to skip it, and turned and headed for the kitchen.