“We were just going down to the beach,” I said.
“Yes?” said the girl. She listened for a moment. “So you’re having your piano tuned?” she said. “My aunt has been trying to find a tuner for ours. Do you mind if I go in and tell this man to come on to us when he has finished here?”
I mopped the brow.
“Er—I shouldn’t go in just now,” I said. “Not just now, while he’s working, if you don’t mind. These fellows can’t bear to be disturbed when they’re at work. It’s the artistic temperament. I’ll tell him later.”
“Very well. Ask him to call at Pine Bungalow. Vickers is the name … Oh, he seems to have stopped. I suppose he will be out in a minute now. I’ll wait.”
“Don’t you think—shouldn’t you be getting on to the beach?” I said.
She had started talking to the kid and didn’t hear. She was feeling in her bag for something. “The beach,” I babbled.
“See what I’ve got for you, baby,” said the girl. “I thought I might meet you somewhere, so I bought some of your favourite sweets.”
And, by Jove, she held up in front of the kid’s bulging eyes a chunk of toffee about the size of the Albert Memorial!
That finished it. We had just been having a long rehearsal, and the kid was all worked up in his part. He got it right first time.
“Kiss Fweddie!” he shouted.
And the French windows opened and Freddie came out on to the veranda, for all the world as if he had been taking a cue.
“Kiss Fweddie!” shrieked the child.