Who was the fellow who threw
something into the sea because he was frightened by his own
luck? What shall I throw? (Looking at a presentation clock on the
mantelpiece) That's rather asking for it. In a way it would be
killing two birds with one stone. Oh, Lord, I am lucky!
PAMELA (coming to him and taking his arm). As long as you don't
throw me.
GERALD. Pamela, you're talking rubbish. I talk a good deal myself,
but I do keep within the bounds. Let's go and chatter to Bob about
contangos. I don't know what they are, but they sound extraordinarily
sober.
PAMELA (gently). Poor old Bob!
GERALD (quickly). Why _poor_ old Bob?
PAMELA. He's worried about something. I tried to get him to tell me
as we came from the station, but he wouldn't.
GERALD. Poor old Bob! I suppose things are going up--or down, or
something. Brokerage one-eighth--that's what's worrying him, I
expect.
PAMELA. I think he wants to talk to you about it. Be nice to him,
darling, won't you?
GERALD (surprised). Nice to him?
PAMELA. You know what I mean--sympathetic. I know it's a difficult
relationship--brothers.
GERALD. All relationships are difficult. But after you, he's the
person I love best in the world. (With a laugh) But I don't propose
to fall on his neck and tell him so.
PAMELA (smiling). I know you will help him if you can.
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