“And while you two are smoking,” said Freda, rising, “I’m going out to give Gertrude a hand with the dinner.”
When she had gone Mauney smoked in silence for an awkward moment.
“How’s the work, Max?”
“Coming along fine. I really think I’ve struck something big.”
“Gee, that’s good. More power to you. Feeling all-right?”
“Oh yes!” he answered. “Fairly good, I could stand a little more pep, though. After I get rested up for a week or so I’ll be right on the job again.”
Mauney rose and walked slowly toward the front window and stood looking out on the snow-covered street. For once he failed to understand his own feelings. There was a hot spot in his bosom, burning larger and larger. It had something to do with Freda MacDowell he was sure, because he could see her face before him with its bewitching comfort. It had something to do with Max, too. He longed for words, but they were tied securely within the remotest recesses of his being. He turned and walked slowly back. Lee was sitting idly smoking, with his lanky legs carelessly crossed. He noticed that Max’s face was now flushed.
“It’s a devilish cold day, Max,” he said awkwardly.
“Um-h’m. I think it’s going to snow,” Lee responded, rising and starting slowly for the door. It was dinner-time. In getting out the door they made mutual offers of priority to each other. As they walked toward the dining room Mauney reflected that they had never done this before, and that never before, during their long acquaintance had the weather been a topic of conversation.