Hector McCleod walked jauntily out of the Hospital and stopped at the nearest telephone box.
He looked up a number under ‘L’, dialled rapidly, pressed button ‘A’ and asked for Miss Carlotta Lenshovski.
It was some time before he heard her voice,
“Who is it?” she enquired.
“Hector McCleod,” he said. “How are you today – is your ankle better?”
“Oh, it’s you,” she replied. “The boy made such a muddle over your name, I could not think who it was.”
“He will get to know it in time,” Hector promised her. “And the ankle?”
“It is much better. I am keeping it up all this afternoon and I think I shall only limp a tiny bit tonight.”
“Must you use it at all?”
“I cannot be carried on to do my part,” she laughed.
“I mean, can you not take the evening off?”
She laughed again at his ignorance.
