table and raised them to Archie's, had a hungry look. He reminded Archie of a half-grown, half-starved hound.
"That smells good!" said the long boy. He inhaled deeply. "Yes, sir," he continued, as one whose mind is definitely made up, "that smells good!"
Before Archie could reply, the telephone bell rang. It was Lucille, confirming her prophecy that the pest Jane would insist on her staying to dine.
"Jane," said Archie, into the telephone, "is a pot of poison. The waiter is here now, setting out a rich banquet, and I shall have to eat two of everything by myself."
He hung up the receiver, and, turning, met the pale eye of the long boy, who had propped himself up in the doorway.
"Were you expecting somebody to dinner?" asked the boy.
"Why, yes, old friend, I was."
"I wish"
"Yes?"
"Oh, nothing."
The waiter left. The long boy hitched his back more firmly against the doorpost, and returned to his original theme.
"That surely does smell good!" He basked a moment in the aroma. "Yes, sir! I'll tell the world it does!"
Archie was not an abnormally rapid thinker, but he began at this point to get a clearly defined impression that this lad, if invited, would waive the formalities and consent to join his meal. Indeed, the idea Archie got was that, if he were not invited pretty soon, he would invite himself.
