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.
Their talk wilted. Both of them played with their knives a good
deal. Morton built a set of triangles out of toothpicks while
pretending to give hushed attention to the pianist's rendition
of "Mammy's Little Cootsie Bootsie Coon," while Mr. Wrenn
stared out of the window as though he expected to see the
building across get afire immediately. When either of them
invented something to say they started chattering with guilty
haste, and each agreed hectically with any opinion the other
advanced.
Mr. Wrenn surprised himself in the thought that Morton hadn't
anything very new to say, which made him feel so disloyal that
he burst out, effusively:
"Say, come on now, old man; I just got to hear about what you
did after you left Liverpool.
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