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.

GERALD. Of course I will, though I don't quite see how. (Hopefully)
Perhaps he's only slicing his drives again.