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           "Willyoulightyourcigarswithten-dollarbills?"

           "Twenties."

           "Ilikeyou."

           "Shucks,ma’am.Yououghtentosaythat.Youplumbembarrassme."

           NotlongagotheownersoftheForemasterinstalledbowwindowsonthestreet,withsmallsquarepanesofbottleglass,designedtomaketheplacelookoldandauthentic—anditdidsolook—butpeoplesittinginsideatthetableshadtheirfacesalteredbythewarpingglass.Onefacewouldbealljaw,anotheronebigvacanteye,butitalladdedtotheageandtheauthenticityoftheoldForemasterandsodidthegeraniumsandlobeliasinthewindowboxes.

           Margiewaswaitingforus,hostesstoherfingertips.Sheintroducedhercompanion,aMr.HartogofNewYork,sun-lamptannedandsetwithteethlikeanearofCountryGentleman.Mr.Hartoglookedwrappedandshellacked,butheansweredallsentenceswithanappreciativelaugh.Thatwashiscontributionanditwasn’tabadone.

           "Howd’youdo?"saidMary.

           Mr.Hartoglaughed.

           Isaid,"Ihopeyouknowyourcompanionisawitch."

           Mr.Hartoglaughed.Weallfeltgood.

           Margiesaid,"I’veaskedforatablebythewindow.Thatonethere."

           "Youalsohadthemputspecialflowers,Margie."

           "Mary,Ihavetodosomethingtorepayallyourkindness."

           TheywentonlikethisduringandafterMargiehadseatedus,andMr.Hartoglaughedateveryperiod,clearlyabrilliantman.Imadeaplantogetawordfromhim,butlater.

           Thesettableseemedfineandverywhiteandthesilverwhichwasn’tsilverlookedextrasilvery.