"Herb, I have a confession to make."
"Well, don't willy-nilly around, Oscar. Let's have out with it. The sooner you get it off your chest, the better you'll feel."
"You remember that vigilance committe that you were a part of back in '38? The one set up by the Lord Mayor, Sir John Cowan."
"Of course I do. We were after that dastardly menace, Springheel Jack. Caused quite a ruckus all over London, he did, terrorizing young girls. Jumping around like a frog on a hot griddle, ripping off their shirts, and then leaping off into the night. I would have given my right eye to have caught him, but he was as slippery as an eel, that one. We never did get him."
"Herb, I was Springheel Jack."
Herb laughed. "No offense, Oscar, but you have always had a problem walking without dragging your feet. I don't see you as much of a jumper. Hell, a snake can jump higher than you."
"Not true. Forty years ago I could jump fences like they were just a line in the sand and houses like hedgerows. Even now, I have still got a pretty good leap."
"All right. Stand up."
Herb stands up. Oscar walks behind him and, without so much as a running start, he leaps right over him."
"See, I told you."
"For love of the Queen, you still are a good jumper. But guess what?"
"I'm still a pretty good policeman." Herb grabs Oscar's arm and smiles. "Gotcha."