“Isn’t it hell?” he soliloquized. “When a fellow’s happy, something rotten always happens. Beautiful woman, wasn’t she? Any kids?”
“No,” replied his host shortly. “Come on, let’s have our drink and then we’ll see what we can dig up for dinner. Homachi usually stuffs the pantry shelves pretty well.”
The glasses were filled and Horton raised his, somewhat uncomfortably oppressed with the lack of fitting words. Storm forestalled him hastily.
“I don’t talk much about my trouble, Jack. Let’s try to forget it for to-night. This is a reunion, and I’m damn glad to have you here! Happy days!”
Horton nodded and drank deeply, drawing a long breath of satisfaction.
“That’s the stuff!” he approved. “Some kick to it, all right! Do you ever see anything of the old crowd?”
“I run into one or another of them at the club now and then.” Storm put down his glass. “I’ll go and investigate the pantry; you must be starved.”
“I could do with a little nourishment,” Horton acquiesced. “Let me help you rustle the grub. You don’t look as if you were much of a hand at it.”
“Are you?”
Horton laughed boisterously.