Dina’s skirts were lifted high above the slime of the decks, she had picked her way so fastidiously from place to place that her pretty black pumps were spotless, her lovely silken legs unflecked. She had come upon an empty wooden box and this she had mounted, still holding her skirts clutched high in one hand. “Uncle Dave, you’re just a wizard.” She placed one hand on his shoulder as though to balance herself, she stood a little above him on her perch, smiling down on the big beefy face.

Czar’s cold voice, “You familiar with the cannery business, Miss—uh—–?”

Dave’s laugh boomed out somewhat hollow in tone. “Say, she ought to be by now, she’s handled enough correspondence and heard enough gab about it.”

Louise Husack sometimes surprised you. “Wizard or witch, we’ve seen this ship now, smells and looks like any other old stinking fish boat, only bigger.” She placed one hand flat over the region vaguely supposed to shelter her heart. “Enough’s enough. I’ll take my salmon at the Olympic with a nice martini cocktail on the side.”

Ill and old and raddled as she was, a kind of tonic decency emanated from her. Bay grinned, he tucked her hand under his arm. “That’s telling ’em, kid.” He steered her toward the gangway, he threw a glance over his shoulder at the others. “Come on, you young fry.”

“Right!” Dave bellowed. “Anyway, they’re pushing off for Spruce in another hour, we’ll find ourselves in the middle of Elliott Bay if we don’t watch it.”

The head waiter at the entrance to the handsome main-floor dining room was a name dropper. Good evening, Mr. Husack. We have your table, Mr. Husack. This way, Mr. Husack. There were red roses in a bowl on Mr. Husack’s table, two dark-green bottles, wire-capped, stuck their necks just above the wine bucket’s bed of ice. A round table laid for six. Pink-shaded lights. Though its circular shape did not provide for a head or foot, Dave Husack gave the effect of being at the head of the table. Louise at his right, Christine at his left, Bay, Dina, Czar, in a neat ring.

“Three men three women.” Louise, the perennial hostess. “If there’s one thing I like, it’s a balanced table.”

“If there’s one thing I like,” Dave boomed, “it’s a great big steak that thick. How about it, Emil? Say, take away those roses, will you, boy? They always give me hay fever or rose fever or whatever it is, in August. And get those pink lights off too, while you’re about it. I can’t see only the top of Dina’s head.”

Two deep lines extending from nostrils to chin seemed carved in the gray-white of Czar Kennedy’s face. His eyes were flat, gray, expressionless as oysters. He lifted one forefinger, he stared at Emil the head waiter and the man found himself staring back as though hypnotized. Though Czar did not raise his voice he was plainly heard.

“You. Come here.” The man skirted the table, he stood at Czar’s side. “Kennedy,” he said, “is my name. I am giving this dinner. I ordered it this morning.”