“Gee, you're great!” he cried, “I'm for you!”
She got leave from the factory for a couple of years, with privilege of extension.
“I don't want to impose on your kindness,” he said, “but I'd like to chase around Hoboken and take in the sights, I've never been here before.”
“There's a Bairns' Restaurant,” said Warble, shyly, “we might go there.”
They did. In a taxicab. He held her in his lap and told her the news.
He had had his own rooms done over. Mediaeval setting. Romanesque arches. Stained-glass windows. Sculptured cloisters. Good work.
“How are the twins?” she asked, timidly. “Pleathe.”
“Fine. Miss you terribly—we all do. Butterfly Center mourns your loss. Spring a come-back, won't you, Warble?”
“You want me?”