So we went into his room and started looking through all the junk he had, searching for the dictionary. But we ran across one of the old ABC books he’d had when he was just a toddler and decided it was even better than the dictionary. It had good clear pictures and almost no reading at all. You know the kind of book I mean—A for apple, B for ball and so forth.
We took the book into the den and put it on the desk, centring it on the dot, then went out to dinner.
In the morning the book had disappeared and that was a little odd. Up until then, nothing had disappeared from the desk until late in the day.
Early that afternoon, Lewis called me up. “I’m coming down to see you, Joe. Is there a bar handy where the two of us can be alone?”
I told him there was one only a block from me and said I’d meet him there.
I got a few things cleared away, then left the office, figuring I’d go over to the bar and have a quick one before Lewis showed up.
I don’t know how he did it, but he was there ahead of me, back in a comer booth. He must have broken every traffic regulation on the books.
He had a couple of drinks waiting for us and was all huddled over, like a conspirator. He was a bit out of breath, as he had every right to be.
“Marge told me,” he said.
“I suspected she would.”