"N-no."
"Come on up then----East Thirtieth."
"Gee, I'd like to!"
"Well, why don't you, then? Get there about six. Ask for me. Monday. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday I don't have to get to the store evenings. Come on; you'll find out if you like the place."
"By jiminy, I will!" Mr. Wrenn slapped the table, socially.
At last he was "through, just through with loafing around and not getting acquainted," he told himself. He was tired of Zapps. There was nothing to Zapps. He would go up to Mrs. Arty's and now--he was going to find Morton. Next morning, marveling at himself for not having done this easy task before, he telephoned to the Pennsylvania Railroad offices, asked for Morton, and in one-half minute heard: "Yes? This is Harry Morton."
"Hullo, Mr. Morton! I'll just bet you can't guess who this is."
"I guess you've got me."
"Well, who do you think it--"
"Jack?"
"Hunka."
"Uncle Henry?"
"Nope." Mr. Wrenn felt lonely at finding himself so completely outside Morton's own world that he was not thought of. He hastened to claim a part in that world: "Say, Mr. Morton, I wonder if you've ever heard of a cattle-boat called the Merian?"
"I--Say! Is this Bill Wrenn?"
"Yes."
"Well, well, well! Where areyou? When'd you get back?"
"Oh, I been back quite a little while, Morty. Tried to get hold of you--almost called up couple of times. I'm in my office--Souvenir Company--now. Back on the old job. Say, I'd like to see you."
"Well, I'd like to see you, old Bill!"
"Got a date for dinner this evening, Morty?"
"N-no. No, I don't think I've got anything on." Morton's voice seemed to sound a doubt. Mr. Wrenn reflected that Morton must be a society person; and he made his invitation highly polite: "Well, say, old man, I'd be awful happy if you could come over and feed on me. Can't you come over and meet me, Morty?"
"Y-yes, I guess I can. Yes, I'll do it. Where'll I meet you?"
"How about Twenty-eighth and Sixth Avenue?"
"That'll be all right, Bill. 'Bout six o'clock?"
"Fine! Be awful nice to see you again, old Morty."
"Same here. Goo'-by."
Gazing across the table at Miggleton's, Mr. Wrenn saw, in the squat familiar body and sturdy face of Morton of the cattle-boat, a stranger, slightly uneasy and very quiet, wearing garments that had nothing whatever to do with the cattle-boats--a crimson scarf with a horseshoe-pin of "Brazilian diamonds," and sleek brown ready-made clothes with ornately curved cuffs and pocket flaps.
Morton would say nothing of his wanderings after their parting in Liverpool beyond: "Oh, I just bummed around. Places.... Warm to-night. For this time of year." Thrice he explained, "I was kind of afraid you'd be sore at me for the way I left you; that's why I've never looked you up." Thrice Mr. Wrenn declared that he had not been "sore," then ceased trying to make himself understood.