creased and filthy notes, which
Parsons entered in a small notebook, in the neat handwriting of the
illiterate.
'By the way, old boy,' he said. 'I hear that little beggar of mine let
fly at you with his catapult yesterday. I gave him a good dressing-down for
it. In fact I told him I'd take the catapult away if he does it again.'
'I think he was a little upset at not going to the execution,' said
Winston.
'Ah, well -- what I mean to say, shows the right spirit, doesn't it?
Mischievous little beggars they are, both of them, but talk about keenness!
All they think about is the Spies, and the war, of course. D'you know what
that little girl of mine did last Saturday, when her troop was on a hike
out Berkhamsted way? She got two other girls to go with her, slipped off
from the hike, and spent the whole afternoon following a strange man. They
kept on his tail for two hours, right through the woods, and then, when
they got into Amersham, handed him over to the patrols.'
'What did they do that for?' said Winston, somewhat taken aback.
Parsons went on triumphantly:
'My kid made sure he was some kind of enemy agent -- might have been
dropped by parachute, for instance. But here's the point, old boy.