"Rubbish," Mrs. Darrow said brightly. "There's plenty, and it's always nice to have a guest when you're a good cook. And I am," she added with unaffected pleasure.
I smiled. The odors of fresh vegetables cooking filled the small room. "I'll bet you are," I said. "But I can't stay. I have another call to make."
"You have to stop to eat sometime," she said placidly, ignoring my protests and getting another plate from the built-in rack.
There was an unexpected thump from the living area. I turned to see George Darrow rising from the couch and going through the motions of dusting himself off. His eyes glittered with pleasure. I heard the announcer's voice from the TV set talking excitedly about someone just getting a pass away before being dumped. The pass was complete for a fifteen yard gain. With a faint smile, I realized that Darrow was one of those millions of sports addicts who lived for the synthetic participation games so popular now on television.
"You can eat while you're talking to Helen," Mrs. Darrow said behind me. "Unless it's private, of course...."
"No," I said quickly. "I really shouldn't be bothering her but I thought she might be able to help me."
"You just go into the living room with father. Helen'll be here any minute. George, isn't that game over yet?"
"We're in the last quarter," George Darrow said excitedly. "Watch that safety man!"
I was in time to see a pass skip off the outstretched fingers of a defensive halfback. Darrow sighed with heart-felt relief.
"That was close," he muttered. "We're playing the New York Bruins," he added. "I'm with the Toronto Titans tonight."