“What are you doing here?” he boomed.
I’ll never forget that sight as long as I live. I was speechless. He didn’t exactly look smaller, he merely looked deflated. The pants were his own, an old pair of blue serge. The shoes were strangers, rough army style. The sweater was mine, a heavy maroon number that I had bought once for a camping trip, and in spite of his reduction of circumference it was stretched so tight that his yellow shirt showed through the holes.
I found my tongue to say, “Come in! Come on in!”
“I’ve given up the office for the time being,” he said, and he and Fritz both turned and headed for the kitchen.
I sat there awhile, screwing up my lips and scowling, hearing noises they were making, and finally got up and moseyed out to join them. Apparently Wolfe had given up the dining-room too, for he and Fritz were both seated at the little table by the window eating prunes, with a bowl of lettuce and tomatoes, no dressing in sight, waiting for them. I propped myself against the long table, looking down at them, and managed a grin.
“Trying an experiment?” I asked pleasantly.
With his spoon Wolfe conveyed a prune seed from his mouth to the dish. He was looking at me and pretending not to. “How long,” he demanded, “have you been a major?”
“Three days.” I couldn’t help staring at him. It was unbelievable. “They promoted me on account of my table manners. Theodore tells me you are going to join the Army. May I ask in what capacity?”
Wolfe had another prune in his mouth. When he got rid of the seed he said, “Soldier.”
“You mean forward march and bang? Parachute troops? Commandos? Driving a jeep maybe—”