"Why, I'd love one!" answered the mouth, the corners undrooping noticeably. "I had no idea you Twentieth Centuryites were so civilized as all that.... Tea. Imagine!"
Mr. Harbinger fairly popped out of the chair, unstrung again at the reference, clearly made in deprecation, to his own century. However, he covered over admirably the mental abyss which yawned at his feet by clattering about among the few pieces of chipped china in his cupboard as though his sanity depended on the amount of distracting noise he could wring from the simple act of setting out a tea service for two. And indeed, for the moment, it did.
He accepted gratefully, to put it mildly, the few moments respite accorded him by the small, secure hum-drum of preparing the hot water, of fussing over just the minutely exact amount of tea leaves to be spooned into each cup.
Once again, as he invariably did each time he prepared the beverage, he silently congratulated himself on his one small talent ... but the dilute pleasure to be derived from such a trivia evaporated the instant he considered what would again confront him when he turned from the tiny Pullman kitchenette.
He grew faint at the thought of being forced once more to brave the wandering improbable eyes, and the completely unthinkable mouth.
A worse thought crossed his reeling mind as he started for the other side of the room, trying to walk the tea over with his eyes closed, but giving that up as impossible when he remembered the perilously threadbare condition of his rug.
"Will I have to"—pause—"help you drink it?" The cups clattered betrayingly in each hand, no matter how mightily he strove to control his nerves.
"Heavens no," laughed the mouth. One eye crinkled in apparent amusement, the other continued to contemplate what Mr. Harbinger referred to as "the W.C."
A hand shot out of the wall and tapped Mr. Harbinger on the shoulder from the side of his weakest eye.
At this completely unexpected assault, poor Mr. Harbinger gave a despairing little gasp, and would have dropped both cups smash on the floor had not a second hand materialized instantly, and snatched them both, more or less expertly, in mid-air, spilling hardly a drop or two.