had been a grand theatrical season and a whole crop of great young light heavyweights. Any one of them was a good prospect to grow up, put on weight and trim Dempsey. Bill was very happy. He had made a lot of money on his last book, and was going to make a lot more. We had a good time while he was in Paris, and then he went off to Vienna. He was coming back in three weeks and we would leave for Spain to get in some fishing and go to the fiesta at Pamplona. He wrote that Vienna was wonderful. Then a card from Budapest: "Jake, Budapest is wonderful." Then I got a wire: "Back on Monday."
Monday evening he turned up at the flat. I heard his taxi stop and went to the window and called to him; he waved and started up-stairs carrying his bags. I met him on the stairs, and took one of the bags.
"Well," I said, "I hear you had a wonderful trip."
"Wonderful," he said. "Budapest is absolutely wonderful."
"How about Vienna?"
"Not so good, Jake. Not so good. It seemed better than it was."
"How do you mean?" I was getting glasses and a siphon.
"Tight, Jake. I was tight."
"That's strange. Better have a drink."
Bill rubbed his forehead. "Remarkable thing," he said. "Don't know how it happened. Suddenly it happened."
"Last long?"
"Four days, Jake. Lasted just four days."
"Where did you go?"
"Don't remember. Wrote you a post-card. Remember that perfectly."
"Do anything else?"
"Not so sure. Possible."
"Go on. Tell me about it."
"Can't remember. Tell you anything I could remember."
"Go on. Take that drink and remember."
