Late in the afternoon of the third of those maddening days that loathsome woman—the part of her that wasn't phonograph must have been clam—brought him some clothes. And the word that she spoke as she quietly left was music—Goodby.
He vaguely remarked the clothes as he pulled them on—socks, thin-soled shoes, a loosely draped one-piece garment of a closely woven sky-blue material resembling silk but duller—a light cape of darker blue. Just as he was appraising the quite satisfactory effect in the wall mirror a sound turned him toward the door.
They stood a little awkwardly in the doorway, pulling rather solemn faces. The black-haired man, who would have been big by ordinary standards, was mopping his red face in a nervous gesture and the seven-foot giant who dwarfed him was stroking his platinum-blond beard.
H.D. stared at the giant gape-mouthed. He looks exactly like God, if God were in the shape of a man, he thought.
Teeth flashed in a smile through the silvery brush and God said, haltingly, "Hello, Grampaw."
H.D. started violently. The black-haired man came forward with a jovial, if forced, laugh and a deprecating wave of the hand.
"You are his grandfather, you know, Mr. Haworth. Fourteen times removed, that is. He's the Administrator now. Don't you know me? Guess the bird looks different with all this plumage, eh?"
There was, at that, something familiar about this coarse, good-natured fellow, something....
"Jones!" It was the delighted cry of a homesick sailor sighting the old church steeple.