e the
omelets warm, you might ring for some more, Gene, for heaven's sake give
me some coffee, Miss Boltwood will be right down, Mr. Daggett, she told
us how fortunate they were that they met you on the road, did you like
the trip, how were the roads?"

"Why, they were pretty good," said Milt.

Claire arrived, fresh and serene in white taffeta, and she cried
prettily, "I ought to have known that you'd be prompt even if no one
else in the world is, so glad you came, have you tried the kidneys, and
do have an--oh, I see you have tried the omelets, how goes the work at
the university?"

"Why, fine," said Milt.

He ate stolidly, and looked pleased, and sneaked in a glance at his new
(and still tight and still squeaky) tan boots to make sure that they
were as well polished as they had seemed at home.

From nowhere appeared a bustling weighty woman, purring, "Hello, hello,
hello, is it possible that you're all up---- Mr. Daggett. Yes, do lead
me to the kidneys."

And a man with the gray hair of a grandfather and the giggle of a
cash-girl bounced in clamoring, "Mornin'--expected to have bruncheon
alone--do we have some bridge? Oh, good morning, Mr. Daggett, how do
you like Seattle? Oh, thanks so much, yes, just two."

Then Milt ceased to keep track of the conversation, which bubbled over
the omelets, and stewed over the kidneys, and foamed about the coffee,
and clashed above a hastily erected bridge table, and altogether sounded
curiously like four cars with four quite different things the matter
with them all being tried out at once in a small garage. People flocked
in, and nodded as though they knew one another too well to worry about
it. They bowed to him charmingly, and instantly forgot him for the
kidneys and sausages. He sat looking respectable and feeling lonely, by
a cup of coffee, till Claire--dropping the highly unreal smile with
which she had been listening to the elderly beau's account of a
fishing-trip he hadn't quite got around to taking--slipped into a chair
beside him and begged, "Are they looking out for you, Milt?"

"Oh yes, thank you."

"You haven't been to see me."

"Oh no, but---- Working so darn hard."

"What a strikingly original reason! But have you really?"

"Honest."

Suddenly he wanted--eternal man, forever playing confidential small boy
to the beloved--to tell her about his classes and acquaintances; to get
pity for his bare room and his home-cooking. But round them blared the
braz