t some sub-gum war mein, or
chicken cacciatora?"

He tossed the towel back through the open door. "Now, look here," he
protested.

I laughed at him. "Okay, but you get the point."

He did, but he didn't know what he could do about it. "We were
supposed to wait here until--"

That one I'd heard before. "Until the hotel freezes over, sure. But I
don't want to freeze. Do you?"

No, nor to rust. You could see that he liked his job of body-guard and
factotum, and yet....

I pushed him over the edge. "Tell you what to do," I said. "You call
up and say that I'm getting restless. Say that you're afraid I'll ease
out of here when your back is turned. Say anything you like, as long
as you lay it on thick, and I'll back you up. Okay?"

He weighed it awhile. He liked inaction, no matter how sybaritic as
much as I. Then, "Okay," and he reached for the telephone.

The number he gave answered the first ring.

"I'm calling for Mr. Robertson," he said. "This is Mr. William
Wakefield. W. W. Wakefield." He paused. Then, "Ordinarily, I wouldn't,
but Mr. Robertson felt that I should get in touch with you at once."

The other end squawked, nervously, I thought.

Stein thought so, too. "That's quite possible. However, Mr. Robertson
feels that his time here in Washington is valuable. So valuable that
he thinks that his business is soon going to call him back to
Wisconsin Dells, if the merger referred to is delayed any longer. I
beg your pardon?"

* * * * *

He twisted to throw me a wink over his shoulder as the telephone
chattered frantically.

"That's exactly what I told Mr. Robertson.... Yes, he knows of
that.... Yes, I have assured him that, in these days of business
uncertainty and production difficulties, mergers are not as easily
arranged as--" That Stein had a sense of humor when he wanted to use
it.

"Is that right? I'm glad to hear it. One moment, while I check with
Mr. Robertson." He held his hand over the mouthpiece and grinned at
me. "They are ready to have a stroke. This man I'm talking to has no
more authority than a jackrabbit, and he knows it. He wants to check
with his boss, and call us back later. All right with you, Mr.
Robertson?"

I laughed out loud, and he clamped the mouthpiece tighter. "I think
so, Mr. W. W. Wakefield. As long as he puts the heat on that merger."

He went back on the telephone. "Mr. Robertson thinks he might be able
to wait a trifle longer. He asked