***
n a dinner jacket (borrowed from Simon) and relatively new trousers (they were the least shabby ones he owned), Neil looked in the glass and tried to smooth his hair down.
“I’m famished!” Simon bellowed. He broke into a loud chorus of ‘Where Lies My Enchantment, There Will My Heart Surely Be’.
Neil groaned to himself and turned away from the mirror, to see Simon with a bowl of hot water and a razor, trying to shave.
“Think I have any whiskers on my cheeks, old man?” Simon asked cheerfully.
“I think you have whiskers on your brain,” Neil retorted. The situation was worse than he thought. “Listen, about that girl, you know –”
“Barbara?” Simon supplied quickly, putting down his razor and drying off his face. “Dash it, I think I’ve cut myself. Isn’t she lovely, Neil? No, lovely isn’t the word that I want. She’s like a parrot.”
“A parrot?” Neil asked, refusing to follow. “You mean, because she has a beak and squawks? Does she eat birdseed and sit on a perch too?”
“No, idiot!” Simon twirled his towel into a rope and hit Neil on the seat of his trousers. “She’s, you know, exotic, like a bird of the jungle, and yet, she’s delicate too. Have you ever seen such eyes? And such hair? And she wants me to take her in to dinner! Hurrah!” He dropped the towel, basin and razor. He grabbed Neil around the waist and whirled him around, humming a waltz tunelessly as he did so.
“It’s just as I thought. You’ve finally lost it,” Neil said, disengaging himself as rapidly as possible. “You don’t even know this girl!”
“I have lost it,” Simon said, smiling to himself in what Neil thought was an extremely unintelligent manner. “Lost it, lost it!” he caroled, about to break into song again.
“Come on,” Neil said hurriedly, backing away and giving it up. “You’ll be late for dinner.”
“Can’t have that!” Simon grabbed a cravat, flung it around his neck, and beetled off past Neil, tying it as he ran down the steps.