George, again! Storm sat down deliberately and swore. But it would not do to offend him, and the time would be so short . . . .
He rose and opened the door to disclose George, beaming, his arms filled with awkwardly held paper bags and bundles. As he moved, one of them crashed down upon the mat and a thin line of white liquid meandered from it.
“Ouch! There goes the cream, I am afraid!” George’s smile faded, and he gazed ruefully down at the mess. “I thought we might make a rarebit, and I stopped——”
“Well, never mind! Come in. There is more cream in the ice chest.” Storm pulled his guest unceremoniously within and closed the door. “Homachi can clean the mat in the morning. Here, I’ll take all that stuff to the kitchen.”
“Just finished a rubber of bridge over at the Abbott’s and as I hadn’t seen you in two days——” George explained to the empty air. “Why, what the——!”
His ejaculation reached Storm in the kitchen and the latter returned to find his guest staring in surprise from the opened trunk to the disordered room.
“I’m packing up some stuff to send back to Greenlea,” Storm explained briefly. “All those things Leila gave me, you know; I can’t stand seeing them around me any longer.”
“I’m sorry. I thought they would make it more homelike for you here,” George said simply, in honest contrition. “I might have known you wouldn’t want them about just yet, to remind you——Here, let me help pack them.”
Storm masked a smile. Old George was almost too easy!
“All right, then, if you want to,” he acquiesced. “Take off your coat and we’ll pitch in. There is a pile of old newspapers on the pantry shelf——”