JOSEF HULTZ moves onto the front verandah, wearing hat and overcoat and carrying his briefcase.

Reckon Bub learns more from you than all her lessons at the convent.

JOSEF rings the doorbell. OLIVE moves to answer it.

BARNEY: I don’t know. That Moira Doherty sounds quite a teacher.

OLIVE: [calling towards the kitchen] I’ll get it!

BARNEY: Hubba-hubba, and that jigger-jigger stuff. [To NANCY] Though I reckon you could teach her that alright.

JOSEF: [as OLIVE opens the door] Good evening.

NANCY, holding BARNEY’s foot aloft and dabbing at his ankle, turns a startled head towards the hallway at the sound of JOSEF’s voice.

I am calling on Miss Wells.

OLIVE: Yes, she’s home. Come in.

NANCY, suddenly conscious of the situation, drops BARNEY’s raised foot on the pouffe, and disposes of the sight of his bare flesh as though something indecent by wrapping both feet hastily in the towel. BARNEY reacts with astonishment.

BARNEY: Steady on—the ankles.

OLIVE: [leading JOSEF into the living room] Someone, Nance, for you.

NANCY rises in embarrassment, as JOSEF removes his hat.

NANCY: I wasn’t expecting you—so soon.

JOSEF: Is too early for an evening visit?

NANCY: No. But Emma—Mrs Leech—I haven’t had time to talk to her yet.

JOSEF: I am sorry—

NANCY: Doesn’t matter. I’ll do it now. [A passing hasty introduction] You remember Olive, don’t you?

JOSEF: [bowing] Of course.

NANCY: And this is—Barney Ibbot and Roo Webber—you might’ve met at the City Club sometime?

JOSEF nods in acknowledgment. NANCY sketches a general explanation of his presence.

Mister Hultz is lookin’ for somewhere to stay. [Moving for the hallway] I said I’d ask. Won’t be long.

She escapes towards the kitchen.

OLIVE: Lemme take your hat. And sit down—

JOSEF hands her his hat, but does not sit. OLIVE sets the hat aside, puzzled by something familiar about the visitor.

Nancy said the City Club?

JOSEF: The City Club. Yes.

ROO: Goin’ back a bit—the City Club?

JOSEF: February, 1938—

OLIVE: [in sudden happy recollection] I remember—

She stabs a finger in JOSEF’s direction.

—you’re the one who used to have me bring home magazines ’n’ things—that time when Nance was sick? [To the boys] She’d hurt her back at the pub, liftin’ crates down in the cellar, and she was off work for a coupla weeks or more—he’d send her flowers ’n’ stuff to read, and I would bring them home with messages from— [back to JOSEF] —no no, wait. It was a special name. Not what you said before, not—

JOSEF: Hultz, no. That is so. She did not call me Hultz, your friend.

OLIVE: More like—

JOSEF: Fieldmouse. In those days she would call me Fieldmouse.