When the waiter had gone, I said to Bertha, “Don’t do that again.”
“What?”
“Act as though I were a child whom you were taking out to dinner. I know what I want to eat.”
“But Donald, you don’t eat enough. There’s no meat on your bones.”
Arguing with her was going to take energy so I let it go at that, and sat smoking.
Bertha watched me while she was eating. She said solicitously. “You’re looking awfully white. You aren’t going to come down with typhoid or something are you?”
I didn’t say anything. The salty tang of the fried ham made my stomach feel a, little better. The black coffee tasted good, but I couldn’t manage all of the ham sandwich.
“I know what it is,” Bertha said. “You’ve been eating in those greasy-spoon restaurants up in Oakview. You’ve knocked your stomach out, lover. Hell, Donald, think of the break it’ll he if Dr. Alftmont gets out in front in a political campaign where the citizens can’t afford to let him back out, and the other side are gunning for him. We can write our own ticket.”
“He’s already done that,” I said.
“We’ve got to work fast. It’ll mean a lot of night work.” I started to say something, then gave up.