BOB. Why can't you come on Monday?

GERALD. Well, the Surrey match.

BOB (bitterly). I suppose as long as you beat Surrey, it doesn't
matter if I go to prison.

GERALD (annoyed). Oh, shut up about going to prison! There's not
the slightest chance of your going to prison. You know perfectly
well, if there were, that I'd walk on my hands and knees to London
to-night to try and stop it. As it is, I have promised to play for
the county; it's a particularly important match, and I don't think
it's fair to let them down. Anyway, if I did, the whole family
would want to know why, and I don't suppose you want to tell them
that yet.

BOB (mumbling). You could say the Foreign Office had rung you up.

GERALD (earnestly). Really, Bob old boy, I'm sure you're making too
much of it. Dammit! you've done nothing wrong; what is there to
worry about? And if it's only a question of money, we'll manage it
on our heads, somehow. I'll come up directly the match is over. It
may be Tuesday night, with luck.

BOB (grumbling). If the weather's like this, it's bound to last
three days.

GERALD. Then at the worst, I'll come first train Thursday morning.
That I promise. Anyway, why don't you consult Wentworth? He's a