"I'll take her a salad and some bouillon," she said. "The kid thinks she has to watch her weight already."
As an afterthought, Westervelt topped his load with a martini for Smith, on the theory that the chief was going to need it.
He went in there first, let Smith see that nothing but coffee was on the way to Lydman, and made his exit directly into the hall. He made the communications room his next stop, and took what was left into the library to share with Lydman.
The latter took a roast beef sandwich, pulled the heating tab, and tore it open after the required thirty seconds with one twist of his powerful fingers. Westervelt had a little more trouble with his package of ham and eggs, but the coffee cups were simpler.
They sat there in silence, except for an occasional word, and a brief scramble when Westervelt spilled coffee on a list of cases Lydman had thought of for further checking. The ex-spacer chewed methodically on three sandwiches, and poured down two containers of coffee, scanning a copy of the Galatlas all the while.
Westervelt found the fried ham and eggs to be a disappointment.
I should have tried a steak, he reflected. Eggs can't be done. Not and taste right.
There was one sandwich left, cold turkey, and Lydman had just begun on his third, so the youth helped himself. The hot mince pie had real flavor, and he was feeling quite comfortable by the time Lydman finished his ice cream.
"Shall I get some more coffee?" Westervelt offered.
"Not for me," said the other. "If you go back, though, you could pick up those folders."