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her home and called up Phyllis to ask, “Be sure to have
Bennett, when he gets home, take my bag out of the taxicab
for me.” So Phyllis was waiting for me at the door.
Things were a bit strained. Of course, there was
nothing wrong about this, but Phyllis was a little peeved at
me, especially because she was losing her mind trying to entertain
Walter Van Tillburg Clarke. That night we went to the
theater--the three of us. Everything was in rather a state
of strain. Phyllis was angry at me. We were both trying to
talk to Clarke.
We got home. She had thawed a little bit by this time.
She knew that she had punished me enough. I had sent her
flowers after all. I said that I was hungry. Phyllis said,
“Shall I make you some scrambled eggs and toast and coffee?”
She makes wonderful scrambled eggs. I said, “That would be
great.” Clarke's eyes bulged because we went to our kitchen
and Phyllis made eggs and coffee and toast and we sat down at
the kitchen table. Walter Clarke said, “Do you mean to say
that sophisticated people in New York eat in the kitchen this
way?" We said, “Of course they do. New York people are no
different from any other people.”
Well, this opened the flood gates. For the next three
days, Walter Van Tillburg Clarke never shut up. He felt at
home. It was the eggs and coffee and toast in the kitchen.
Phyllis said, “Gosh, Walt, do you remember when I couldn't get
you to talk? Will you please shut up?" He followed her around
the house talking his head off. We've loved him ever since,
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