Hector slaps his hands together and squares his jaw.
"I ain't gonna starve!" he says. "They has got to be 1,500 calories and a amount of proteins in proportion go into my system every day. Not only that, its gotta be in a tasty form! I'm gonna go home and figure this thing out so's I'll be took care of when the government grabs off all the food supplies. They must be somethin' a man can do! Good night, folks—and thanks for the use of the kitchen."
With that he blows.
"I think he's a nut!" remarks the wife, when the hall door bangs.
"Leave him be!" says Alex, rubbin' his hands together, a habit that gets my goat. "I got him started now and—"
"Say!" I says. "I didn't see nothin' in no paper about the government gonna seize all the eats. I think you was kiddin' Hector, myself!"
"You didn't see the Civil War, either, did you?" says Alex. "I suppose you don't believe that, eh? I told you I was gonna put this feller over and if you'll leave me be, I will! I told you every man had an ace buried somewhere, didn't I? Well, Hector's ace is his mad infatuation for his stomach. He's never played it yet, because there's been no reason to do so. As long as he had the money, he could buy the stuff and hash it up in any way his peculiar tastes desired. Once he thinks he can't do that, he'll put all he's got under his hat into findin' a way to get all them proteins and calories he wants. I've given him somethin' he never had before—an incentive—and—"
"What do you figure Hector's gonna do to startle the world?" I says.
"Search me!" says Alex, grinnin', "but we'll all get paid off on whatever it is, you can gamble on that!"
The wife sniffs.