ALBACORA 171 



"Of course," Manning said. "I understand. Perhaps 

 a cup of coffee? I can personally testify that the Mar- 

 ron's coffee is the finest anywhere in New York." 



"Sorry," the man said, looking around the living 

 room. "I just don't have the time." 



"Then let me make you a drink," Manning urged. 

 "It certainly is a cold morning, sir." 



The man bristled. "Drink?" he said. "Never when 

 I'm working." 



"So much of the work must be so delicate," Manning 

 said, saving the situation rather well, I thought. 



"It's all delicate," the man said. Then he strode over 

 to the Steinway, opened his portfolio and began to tune 

 the piano. 



"The middle B sharp," I called. "Be sure you fix the 

 middle B sharp, it's way out of tune." John Manning 

 fixed the drink for himself. The man was still working 

 on the piano an hour later when the real Peruvian Con- 

 sul arrived. 



Later, when Jo Manning reached our apartment, she 

 almost matched John's adventure during a tour of the 

 stuffed fish and shiny trophies that cover our walls and 

 mantels. Lou took time out from his telephones to join 

 me in showing Jo through the place, and in the guest 

 room she spotted a chart not far from a small mounted 

 barracuda. Lou's name was prominent in the heading. 



Jo burst out, "What extraordinary catches!" 



Both Lou and I had turned to point out another fish. 



