Perfect adaptation, that's what it was. When a human being
can blend with his surroundings, funny things can happen!
* * * * *
[Illustration]
I've got an office in the _Daily Standard_ building and sometimes when
things are slow in my line--theatrical bookings--I drift upstairs and
talk to the guy who writes the column, The Soldier's Friend, for the
_Standard_.
On this particular morning I walked into his office and found it empty
so I sat down and waited, figuring he was downstairs getting a mug of
coffee. After I cleaned my nails and glanced through Jake's mail I
propped my feet up on the desk and relaxed.
Things in my line were strictly stinkeroo. With the army taking an
option on every available hunk of male flesh, it made it pretty tough
to get acts together. Of course, I still had a few dollies to peddle,
but the situation don't look too good there, what with the WAVES and
the WAACS and the demand from factories for powder-puff riveters.
I sighed and moodily contemplated my uncreased trouser legs and
thought of my non-existent bank balance. Whoever said war was hell,
sure hit the nail on the head.
The door opened and I heard a shuffle of footsteps on the floor. I
tipped my derby back and looked up, expecting to see Jake, but the
office was empty.
The door was standing open and I scratched my head. Maybe it had blown
open. Then I remembered the sound of footsteps I'd heard and my
bewilderment increased.
"Hello," a voice said.
My feet came down from the desk with a crash. I sat up straight and
stared about the small room.
"Who said that?" I demanded.
"I did. I'm right here." It was the same voice and I jerked my head in
the direction of the sound.
For an instant I didn't see a thing. But then, my eyes seemed suddenly
to focus, and I saw a tall, lanky young man standing a few feet from
me. He had a shock of straw colored hair and mild blue eyes. He wore a
light suit.
"Can you see me now?" he asked, and his voice sounded strained, as if
he were exerting himself in some manner.
"Yes, I can see you," I said. I was a little nettled. "What do you
mean coming in and scaring people that way?"
"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just can't help
it. I'll have to relax now."
"You'll have to what? Are you--"
I broke off and goggled. The young man had completely disappeared. My
forehead was suddenly damp with nervous perspiration. I closed my eyes
and forced myself to think calmly. This was some trick of my
imagination. I'd been working too hard. My nerves were shot. I'd have
to take a rest.
I opened my eyes cautiously. The room was empty. I drew a relieved
breath.
"I'm sorry if I frightened you," a familiar voice said apologetically.
"But, you see, I can't help it."