Ford’s spell of concentration was broken. He turned angrily on Arthur.
I wasn’t talking about my towel, said Arthur. We’ve established that that isn’t mine. It’s just that the bag into which I was putting the towel which is not mine is also not mine, though it is extraordinarily similar. Now personally I think that that is extremely odd, especially as the bag was one I made myself on prehistoric Earth. These are also not my stones, he added, pulling a few flat grey stones out of the bag. I was making a collection of interesting stones and these are clearly very dull ones.
A roar of excitement thrilled through the crowd and obliterated whatever it was that Ford said in reply to this piece of information. The cricket ball which had excited this reaction fell out of the sky and dropped neatly into Arthur’s mysterious rabbit-skin bag.
Now I would say that that was also a very curious event, said Arthur, rapidly closing the bag and pretending to look for the ball on the ground.
I don’t think it’s here, he said to the small boys who immediately clustered round him to join in the search, it probably rolled off somewhere. Over there I expect. He pointed vaguely in the direction in which he wished they would push off. One of the boys looked at him quizzically.
You all right? said the boy.
No, said Arthur.
Then why you got a bone in your beard? said the boy.
I’m training it to like being wherever it’s put. Arthur prided himself on saying this. It was, he thought, exactly the sort of thing which would entertain and stimulate young minds.
Oh, said the small boy, putting his head to one side and thinking about it. What’s your name?
Dent, said Arthur, Arthur Dent.
You’re a jerk, Dent, said the boy, a complete asshole. The boy looked past him at something else, to show that he wasn’t in any particular hurry to run away, and then wandered off scratching his nose. Suddenly Arthur remembered that the Earth was going to be demolished again in two days’ time, and just this once didn’t feel too bad about it.
Play resumed with a new ball, the sun continued to shine and Ford continued to jump up and down shaking his head and blinking.
Something’s on your mind, isn’t it? said Arthur.
I think, said Ford in a tone of voice which Arthur by now recognized as one which presaged something utterly unintelligible, that there’s an SEP over there.
He pointed. Curiously enough, the direction he pointed in was not the one in which he was looking. Arthur looked in the one direction, which was towards the sight-screens, and in the other which was at the field of play. He nodded, he shrugged. He shrugged again.
A what? he said.
An SEP.
An S?…
…EP.
And what’s that?
Somebody Else’s Problem.
Ah, good, said Arthur and relaxed. He had no idea what all that was about, but at least it seemed to be over. It wasn’t.
Over there, said Ford, again pointing at the sight-screens and looking at the pitch.
Where? said Arthur.
There! said Ford.
I see, said Arthur, who didn’t.
You do? said Ford.