“So far,” she laughed, “you’re batting one hundred per cent as a literary critic.” She poured coffee into a tin cup and handed it to him. “What do you think of my coffee?”
He tasted it consideringly; then gave a serious verdict. “Pretty bad.”
“Really! I suppose it isn’t according to the mail-order book recipe.”
“It’s muddy and it’s weak.”
“Are you always so frank in your expression of views?”
“Well, you asked me.”
“Would you answer as plainly whatever I asked you?”
“Certainly. I’d have too much respect for you not to.”
She opened wide eyes at this. Then provocatively: “What do you think of me, Mr. Banneker?”
“I can’t answer that.”