The man had another ball in the air now. "The meaning of meaning. Semantics—that's a pun. Think you'll get the nomination?"
"It's touch and go," confessed the Governor. "I'm hoping."
The sailor was juggling three balls. He didn't look at them, just kept catching and tossing in rhythm. "Touch and go. Skill and chance," he said.
"That's right," agreed Lampley, drinking again.
"Comfortable?"
"Yes, thanks."
"Always said they should have put steam heat in here."
"But it's quite warm."
"Just wait till it snows. Drifts high as the roof, drifts high as the trees, drifts high as mountains. Buried in snow, white on top, green under the light here. A wonder we don't smother."
"Oh no," said the Governor, recalling the igloo in the refrigerator. "It's porous or something. The air comes through."