The Doorbell Rang
“With the chain bolt on I had to be let in. When Fritz came he asked if I wanted some warmed-up curried duck, and I growled the no. I shed my hat and coat and went to the office, and there was the oversized genius at his desk, in the chair made to order for his seventh of a ton, with a bottle of beer and a glass on the tray, comfortably reading his current book, The Treasure of Our Tongue, by Lincoln Barnett. I went to my desk and whirled my chair and sat. He would look up when he finished a par...agraph.
He did. He even inserted his bookmark, a thin strip of gold given him years before by a client who couldn’t afford it, and put the book down. “You have dined, of course,” he said.
“Dined, no.” I crossed my legs. “Excuse me for waving my legs around. I ate something greasy, I forget what, in a dump in the Bronx. It has been-“ “Fritz will warm the duck, and-“ “No he won’t. I told him not to. It has been by far the lousiest day I have ever had and I’ll finish it up right.MoreLess
He did. He even inserted his bookmark, a thin strip of gold given him years before by a client who couldn’t afford it, and put the book down. “You have dined, of course,” he said.
“Dined, no.” I crossed my legs. “Excuse me for waving my legs around. I ate something greasy, I forget what, in a dump in the Bronx. It has been-“ “Fritz will warm the duck, and-“ “No he won’t. I told him not to. It has been by far the lousiest day I have ever had and I’ll finish it up right.MoreLess
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