al at the roots of his nostrils, and with his chin, and there were no patches left. He felt so well gratified that he dabbed each cheekbone with lather and took off the little half-moons of fuzz. Still no complaints. He cleaned up the basin and flushed the lathery, hairy bits of toilet paper down the water closet. Do I? he wondered, as the water closet gargled. Nope. He reached for the collar buttons.
When Mary came to the door he was flinging over and noosing the four-in-hand, his chin stretched and tilted as it always was during this operation, with the look of an impatient horse.
“Jay,” she said softly, a little quelled by this impatient look, “I don’t mean to hurry you, but things’ll get cold.”
“I’ll be right out.” He set the knot carefully above the button, glaring into his reflected eyes, made an unusually scrupulous part in his hair, and hurried to the kitchen table.
“Aw, darling!” There were the bacon and eggs and the coffee, all ready, and she was making pancakes as well.
“Well you got to eat, Jay. It’ll still be chilly for hours.” She spoke as if in a church or library, because of the sleeping children, unconsciously, because of the time of night.
“Sweetheart.” He caught her shoulders where she stood at the stove. She turned, her eyes hard with wakefulness, and smiled. He kissed her.
“Eat your eggs,” she said. “They’re getting cold.”
He sat down and started eating. She turned the pancakes. “How many can you eat?” she asked.
“Gee, I don’t know,” he said, getting the egg down (don’t talk with your mouth full) before he answered. He was not yet quite awake enough to be very hungry, but he was touched, and determined to eat a big breakfast. “Better hold it after the first two, three.”
She covered the Pancake to keep it hot and poured another.
