“Yes, I’ve got so I hate to come in here. She acts as if I were an intruder—as though I was going to snoop into the refrigerator and see if she keeps it clean.”

“Well, you do. And she doesn’t.”

“What gets me is the way she just looks at you, if you ask her to do anything unusual. She always does what you tell her, but she always makes you think she’s going to refuse, and then you wonder what you’ll do—fire her or apologize. Oh, dear!”

Neil boasted, “I’ve got so I can laugh off that look, but what gets me is the way she never empties all the ash-trays. By God, she’ll leave one of them dirty, even if it kills her. I’ll bet she makes a memo to do it.”

“That doesn’t worry me as much as that sullen look, as though she’s going to get out a razor.”

“I believe the ice pick is preferred now, by the better smokes,” said Neil. “Oh, I’m sorry. That sounds snooty. Poor Belfreda—dirty dishes all day. We’ve got a phobia on the dinges.”

But after dinner, the next evening, Neil again viewed with alarm:

“We’ve got to do something about our Topsy. Maybe it’s time to fire her. That was the worst meal she’s ever given us. She managed to fry the meat hard as leather and—I thought all zigs were wonderful at sweet potatoes, to which they’re believed to be related, but she does something to them that makes ‘em taste like squash. And I swear, this is the fourth time this week she’s given us that same pudding.”

“Second. But I do hope I can persuade her to do something different for the Havocks tomorrow evening. I dislike Curtiss so much that we simply have to give him a wonderful spread.”

For the preparation of that wonderful spread, Belfreda did do something different. She failed to appear at all.

* * * * *

Curtiss, son of the lusty contractor, Boone Havock, had always been a mistake. He had probably been confused in the cradle by the boisterousness of his father, the screaming humor of his mother. He was a large lout, good-looking in a sulky way, and he had a large allowance, but he had never been popular with the girls whose love he had tried to buy or the boys with whom he sought companionship in boozing.

In the single month of January, 1942, Curtiss had married Nancy Pzort, who came from a family of inconsiderable market-gardeners, their daughter, Peggy, had been born, and Curtiss had run off to join the Marines. When he was invalided out, as a corporal, his father, though he noisily disapproved of his son’s having married a dollarless Slav, arranged for Curtiss a makeshift job in the Blue Ox National Bank, and bought for the young couple a fancy villa of stucco and green tiles, next-door to Neil.

As a veteran of four, Biddy considered the Havocks’ Peggy, at two and three-quarters, a mere child, but they played together all day. Curtiss assumed that as a fellow-banker and old schoolmate, Neil must love him and desire to listen to his damp stories about chasing stenographers. Curtiss was, in fact, a nuisance.