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"Me? I'll take the Lillian Gish with a pint of salmon and trout. Got a cigargette?" he asked his friend who quickly produced a cigarette and then stood up.

"Where ya off to?"

"Phone. Got to see if me wife is home."

"You mean your trouble and strife:' his friend said and they both laughed.

I leaned toward Randall who had been listening with a smile on his face.

"What are they talking about?"

"They're speaking mockney. It's fashionable these days to use the odd phrase trying to sound like cockneys. They're having fun with rhyming cockney slang. The one guy ordered steak and kidney, Kate and Sydney, and the other ordered fish, which is Lillian Gish, with a pint of stout, salmon and trout. Understand?"

"No. Trouble and strife? What did he mean by that?"

"He went to call his wife, so the other guy said, oh, your trouble and strife."

"How do you know all this?" I asked, astounded and impressed.

"Like I told you, I read. I have this book back in my room. I'll lend it to you, if you want. It's like a dictionary of cockney slang."

"I have enough trouble with the English language here as it is," I said. "I'll skip it."

He sipped his beer and we talked about the play. Randall thought that Macbeth's life was predetermined by Fate and he really had no choice but to come to a bad end. I disagreed and pointed out that Fate merely tempted him. It was still his fault because he listened to his mad, ambitious wife and killed the king.

"Then you don't think your life is all

predetermined for you?" he asked me.

"I hope not," I said. "Mine didn't get the best start, and if my future is anything like my past, I'm in for a worse Fate than Lady Macbeth."

He looked thoughtful.

"Sometimes," he said, "I feel that if I challenge things, do something I'm not supposed to be doing, I'm defying Fate and suffer for it."

"Randall, if you don't want to be doing what you're doing, you should tell your parents and not let them design your life for you."

"I know. It's not that I don't want to do it. I love to sing. It's just that ...sometimes, I think I'm missing so much, I won't have anything to sing about. Does that make sense?"

"Yes."

"Catherine and Leslie think so, too."

"Talk about temptation," I said, and he smiled.

The fish and chips came. I thought I wasn't hungry, but the aroma stirred my appetite and

I fell in love with the fries. I know I ate too many of them. Later, on the way home, I heard my stomach complain about all the grease. It was as if big, thick bubbles were popping inside of me. I had to make our good night very short and just made it into the house in time. I expected my moans and groans would bring Boggs out of his room, but he didn't appear, and I couldn't wait to curl up in bed. I tossed and turned most of the night, waking up frequently with stomach cramps.

In the morning I felt like a hag and thought I didn't look much different. When Mrs. Chester asked me why I was so "buggered out," I told her what I had eaten. She laughed and said I probably had gone to a real dump. She made some concoction for me and it did make my stomach feel better. At least I didn't look like death warmed over when I stepped into the dining room to help serve breakfast. Only my great-uncle was there.

"So?" he asked as soon as I entered the dining room. "How was the play?"

"Oh, it was wonderful. Thank you for getting me the tickets."

"I've been hearing good things about the actress who plays Lady Macbeth," he said, nodding. "Did you take another student from the school?" he inquired.

"Yes," I said.