[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Astounding Science-Fiction, September 1947.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Peter Hedgerly heard the door open and close and he smiled at his
reflection in the mirror. He turned partly and called out through the
semi-closed bedroom door.
"Sit down, honey. I'll be right out."
Joan Willson was early, he thought, but it made no matter. It merely
gave them more time togeth--
"I'll sit down," came a deep, pleasant masculine rumble, "but I'm not
your honey!"
Peter hit the door and skidded into the living room, his loose
shirttail flying out behind him. "Who're you?" he demanded sharply.
"Please do not be disturbed. Finish dressing," said the stranger. Peter
measured him. A few pounds heavier than Peter's one hundred and sixty;
an inch taller than Peter's five feet eleven. About the same sandy
blond complexion. The face was wreathed in a beatific smile that in no
way matched Peter's exasperation.
"I'm expecting a guest," snapped Peter. "The door was open for ... the
guest. Not for stray strangers seeking company or whatever."
"I know. My presence will make no difference."
"No difference?" exploded Peter angrily. "Look, sport, three's a crowd.
Technically, you're trespassing. Shall I prove it by calling the
police?"
"You may if you wish," replied the stranger. "But I happen to know for
certain that you will not."
"No?" snapped Peter. He headed toward the telephone with all of the
determination in the world. The stranger watched him tolerantly. Peter
reached the table beside the door and reached for the phone. As his
hand touched it, the door opened and Joan Willson came in. She gulped
at Peter and said: "Oh!"
Peter became aware of the fact that his nether raiment consisted of
shoes, socks, paisley-print shorts and a curtailed-shirttailed WPB
model shirt.