"I ... I don't know what to say," Ewing faltered. "In the light of ... of recent developments, I think it would be unwise to involve you, Mr. Barrett."
Joey laughed. "Listen, this is the break of a lifetime for me. How about tomorrow morning at nine?"
"Tomorrow." The one word was neither affirmation nor question.
But Joey chose to interpret it as agreement. "See you in the morning at nine, Mr. Ewing," he said, and hung up quickly.
Joey slept little that night. He was up early, gulped a hasty breakfast, and stood on the steps at Ewing's house at five minutes to nine.
Again, as on the day before, he had to ring the bell twice before the door opened and the wrinkled face showed itself. He was shocked by the change in Ewing. The man seemed much older and there was a haunting fear in the blue eyes.
"It would have been wiser," the old man whispered, "if you had not come here again—for us not to have met."
Joey was determined to be charming. He put his hand on the thin old arm and gently pushed Ewing into the entry hall. "I don't blame you for being bitter," he said, closing the door. "I was a fool yesterday."
Ewing pulled free and moved agitatedly into the living-room. Even the morning sun made no impression on the shadows there.