The plump little woman said she knew it, and Mrs. O’Shea left us, with, I noticed, the hip-swing in action, so it hadn’t been a special demonstration for Huck.
I turned to Paul Thayer. “Lewent asked me to stay for dinner, but he’s going to skip it, so do you think I rate a cocktail?”
“Sure, it’s routine.” He was matter-of-fact. “It was started by my aunt a couple of years ago when his legs went bad, and he has kept it up. How goes it? Have you spotted her?”
“Not to paste a label on.” I aimed a thumb at the cabinet. “What’s this, a dishwasher?”
“Hell no, a chow wagon. Designed by my aunt and made to order. Plug it in any outlet.”
“It’s quite a vehicle.” I moved to it. “Mr. Wolfe ought to have one for breakfast in his room. May I take a look?”
“Sure, go ahead. I’ve got to wash my hands.”
He went to the sink and turned on a faucet. I opened the door of the cabinet. There was room enough inside for breakfast for a family, with many grooves for the shelves so that the spaces could be arranged as desired. I slid a couple of them out and in, tapped the walls, and inspected the thermostat.
“Very neat,” I said admiringly. “Just what I want for my ninetieth birthday.”
“I’ll remember and send you one.” He was patting his hands with a paper towel.