“I dunno, Harry. I’m going to find out. Only I wanted to be sure first that you were still—interested in her.”
“Interested!” The youth yelled the word. “Look! I’m mixed up, now! If you mean what I think you do—I believe I get it! I never did have one of those long talks about what went wrong—with Sarah. I don’t like scenes, and she was so darn mean and icy the last time I saw her, I got hurt about it—and walked out. You think it would make any difference if she didn’t know—and then did?” Jimmie could hear him swallow on the end of that.
“I’ll see.”
“Will you call me back, then? Hell! How can a fellow go and toot a clarinet, wondering about a thing like that—after he’s tried to quit wondering for a whole, long lot of months!”
“I’ll call you, Harry.”
Jimmie hung up. “Now—Sarah,” he said to Audrey. “I like the way this Harry talks.”
“Jimmie! I—look. Can I call Sarah?”
“Why, sure!” He smiled quietly. “The woman’s gentler technique?”
“Not that. But I thought—if we’ve guessed right about this—then telling Sarah will be doing her a big favor.”
“What do you want to do her a favor for?”