Bean was
thinking that the waster possessed more executive talent than Grandma
had given him credit for; also that he would find an excuse to break
away once they were outside; also that Balthasar was keenly witty.
Balthasar had _said_ it would disintegrate if handled.
He would leave Nap with Cassidy. He would return for him that night,
then flee. He would go back to Wellsville, which he should never have
left.
The waster had him in the car outside, a firm grasp on one of his arms.
"I'll allow you only one," said the waster judicially as the car moved
off. "I know where the chap makes them perfectly--brings a mummy back to
life--"
"A mum--what mummy?" asked Bean dreamily.
"Your own, if you had one, you silly juggins!"
Bean winced, but made no reply.
The car halted before an uptown hotel.
"Come on!" said the waster.
"Bring it out," suggested Bean, devising flight.
The waster prepared to use force.
"Quit. I'll go," said Bean.
He was before a polished bar, the white-jacketed attendant of which not
only recognized the waster but seemed to divine his errand.
"Two," commanded the waster. The attendant had already reached for a
bottle of absinthe, and now busied himself with two eggs, a shaker, and
cracked ice.
"White of an egg, delicate but nourishing after bachelor dinners," said
the waster expertly.
Bean, in the polished mirror, regarded a pallid and shrinking youth whom
he knew to be himself--not a reincarnation of the Egyptian king, but
just Bunker Bean.
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