"We don't want any," I said.
He peered through the screen door and said, "I'm MacDonald," in a nervous, uncertain voice.
"MacDonald who?"
"Donald MacDonald. May I come in?"
"You're kidding. No, by God, you're not. You are Donald MacDonald."
He smiled wanly. "May I come in? I flew all the way—"
"Just to see me?"
"I—er—it was no trouble. I took a skyorie."
"A what?"
"May I come in?"