Lydman looked up from his reading.
"I'm getting hungry; aren't you, Willie?"
"I guess so. I didn't notice," said Westervelt.
"How about phoning down for something? Get whatever you like."
That was typical of Lydman, Westervelt realized. The man did not care what he ate. Smith would have been specific though unimaginative. Parrish would have sent instructions about the seasoning. The girls would choose something sickening by Westervelt's standards. He shoved back his chair and stood up.
"I'd better see what they're doing up front," he said. "I think Mr. Smith was talking about it being quicker to raid our own food locker. I'll be back in a minute."
Lydman raised his gray-blue eyes and stared through him curiously.
"No hurry," he said mildly.
Westervelt thought that the man was still watching him as he walked through the door, but he did not like to look back. It might have been so.
When he reached the main office, he found both girls replacing folders in the bay of current files opposite Simonetta's desk.