Experiments in Convalescence

           TheKnickerbockerBar,beameduponbyMaxfieldParrish’sjovial,colorful"OldKingCole,"waswellcrowded.Amorystoppedintheentranceandlookedathiswrist-watch;hewantedparticularlytoknowthetime,forsomethinginhismindthatcataloguedandclassifiedlikedtochipthingsoffcleanly.Lateritwouldsatisfyhiminavaguewaytobeabletothink"thatthingendedatexactlytwentyminutesaftereightonThursday,June10,1919."Thiswasallowingforthewalkfromherhouse—awalkconcerningwhichhehadafterwardnotthefaintestrecollection.

           Hewasinrathergrotesquecondition:twodaysofworryandnervousness,ofsleeplessnights,ofuntouchedmeals,culminatingintheemotionalcrisisandRosalind’sabruptdecision—thestrainofithaddruggedtheforegroundofhismindintoamercifulcoma.Ashefumbledclumsilywiththeolivesatthefree-lunchtable,amanapproachedandspoketohim,andtheolivesdroppedfromhisnervoushands.

           "Well,Amory..."

           ItwassomeonehehadknownatPrinceton;hehadnoideaofthename.

           "Hello,oldboy—"heheardhimselfsaying.

           "Name’sJimWilson—you’veforgotten."

           "Sure,youbet,Jim.Iremember."

           "Goingtoreunion?"

           "Youknow!"Simultaneouslyherealizedthathewasnotgoingtoreunion.

           "Getoverseas?"

           Amorynodded,hiseyesstaringoddly.Steppingbacktoletsomeonepass,heknockedthedishofolivestoacrashonthefloor.

           "Toobad,"hemuttered."Haveadrink?"

           Wilson,ponderouslydiplomatic,reachedoverandslappedhimontheback.