Another sign of strain was Ethel’s habit of answering a question with a question, so that when he asked What’s the matter? she invariably answered What? as if she hadn’t heard. Perhaps it gave her time to think—she didn’t know how to say what she wanted to say. Even in the thick of a quarrel he always felt sorry for her: she expressed herself so pointlessly, she was never able to hold up her end of the argument, she burst into tears, walked out of the room, or repeated, parrot-­like, the things he himself had said. Today there was no telling what was wrong. But his conscience was clear; it was something in Ethel’s mind. All he could be sure of was that the boat trip he had been looking forward to was now spoiled for them both.

The small cafeteria was crowded; it was next to impossible to get to the counter. The harassed counterman was having a fine time being put upon by the clamoring crowd. King of the moment, he played favorites, took the orders of the old regulars, and seemed not to hear the demands or pleas of newcomers and unknowns. When he got round to listening to Grandin he merely turned to him, raised his eyebrows and closed his eyes, as if to say, Well who do you think you are? “One ham, one cheese, and two cokes, please,” Grandin said. The counterman turned away with a wearied expression which said, You may get them before we arrive in Nantucket; and then again . . .

Waiting for the order to be filled, Grandin shifted in the pressing crowd and glanced about at the passengers behind him. Farther back, barely inside the room, was the big soldier he had noticed on the train, the one who had offered him his seat. Grandin caught his eye and signaled over the heads of the crowd to ask what it was he wanted; he could save him the trouble of fighting his way through to the counter. The tanned face lit up; he called out in a loud stage whisper, “One ham, one cheese, two cokes.” Grandin was curiously pleased; and as he engaged the attention of the snooty counterman and doubled the order, it occurred to him—and again he was pleased by the thought—that the young man had already found a girl.

When he emerged into the open space of the lower deck, the soldier, all smiles, was waiting for him, his money in his hand. He seemed almost unreasonably delighted and grateful; the small kindness scarcely merited such effusive thanks. Grandin pushed the money aside and said, “Forget it.” The soldier took the tray with the sandwiches and cokes in one hand, and with the other he clasped Grandin’s arm in an impulsive friendly gesture.

“Come over here a minute, sir. I want you to meet my wife.”