He read it through carefully, his lips framing the words, the match wavering up and down in his mouth. He got up, put the paper on the bed beside me, and scowled down at it.

“There’s something I’ll have to find out about first,” he said, very solemnly. “I’ll be back in a little while and give you the whole story.”

I laughed and told him:

“Don’t be silly. You know I’m not going to let you walk out on me.”

“I don’t know that.” He shook his head, still solemn. “Neither do you. All you know is whether you’re going to try to stop me.”

“The answer’s yeah,” I said while I considered that he was fairly hard and strong, six or seven years younger than I, and twenty or thirty pounds lighter.