36 ERNEST HEMINGWAY
have just been married. What would you like to eat for supper, Scripps, dear?"
"I don't know," Scripps said. He felt vaguely uneasy. Something was stirring within him.
"Perhaps you have eaten enough of the beans, dear Scripps," the elderly waitress, now his wife, said. The drummer looked up from his paper. Scripps noticed it was the Detroit News. There was a fine paper.
"That's a fine paper you're reading," Scripps said to the drummer.
"It's a good paper, the News," the drummer said. "You two on your honeymoon?"
"Yes," Mrs. Scripps said; "we are man and wife now."
"Well," said the drummer, "that's a mighty fine thing to be. I'm a married man myself."
"Are you?" said Scripps. "My wife left me. It was in Mancelona."
"Don't let's talk of that any more, Scripps, dear," Mrs. Scripps said. "You've told that story so many times."
"Yes, dear," Scripps agreed. He felt vaguely mistrustful of himself. Something, somewhere was stirring inside of him. He looked at the waitress called Mandy, standing robust and vigorously lovely in her newly starched white apron. He watched her hands, healthy, calm, capable hands, doing the duties of waitresshood.
"Try one of these T-bones with hashed-brown potatoes," the drummer suggested. "They got a nice T-bone here."
"Would you like one, dear?" Scripps asked his wife.
"I'll just take a bowl of milk and crackers," the elderly Mrs. Scripps said. "You have whatever you want, dear."
