lled air from
above the smoldering ashtray, and let it out again. "This is not going
to be as simple an affair as it should be," he said finally. "I can see
that now, but I suppose there's nothing to be done but to see it
through. I take it you've settled everything between the two of you
while I've been gone?"

"Oh my," Mimi ejaculated, "I've got to see about dinner. See if you two
can find something to talk about while I'm gone." She hurried out of the
room, one hand already reaching for the apron of the modernistic design
as she passed through the swinging door into the kitchen.

* * * * *

"Well," Donald began, "what did you discover from my little wife?"

"To begin with," Victor answered him, "she seems to have lost her
memory. Everything previous to an experience on the train some eight
months ago is a total blank. Were you aware of this?"

"I was not only aware of it, I told you about it," Donald answered.
"What in God's creation is this moldy brew?" he asked after taking a
deep gulp from the lip of the pitcher and spitting most of it into the
first ashtray he could reach.

"Lime martinis, like a daiquiri, only dryer. If you don't care for them
you might refill my glass. That's right, you did tell me she didn't
remember, but of course--"

"You didn't believe me," Donald finished for him. "Naturally. Look, Dr.
Quink, I think I'm a reasonable man. Damn it, I _know_ I am. I don't
expect you to believe me right off the rat when I walk in and tell
you--"

"Bat," Victor interrupted.

"I beg your pardon," Donald countered.

"Bat. Right off the. Not rat, right off the bat. It's a colloquialism,
comes from baseball, that's a sport we play. Perhaps you haven't come
across it, if you've only been here some eight months?"

"Yes, just about eight months. I've heard of the sport, of course, but
haven't gone to see a game yet. Do you think it's worth my while?"

"Probably not. Strictly a partisan sport."

"Yes, I see your point. Not an idiom, you wouldn't say?"

"No, definitely not," Victor said. "Takes time to make an idiom, but
only God can make a tree. O Lord, I better have another martini. Would
you pour, I think I might miss. Still, a colloquialism, not a doubt
about it. The expression hasn't lasted to your day, I take it? If it
had, then it might be an idiom. Might, I say, only might. I promise
nothing."

"And quite right you are," Donald said. "Still, I want you to unders