"What's the matter?" Kitty asked. "You look worried. You looked kind of dopey before, but now you look worried too." "This Grant Dermitt," Fleetwood said. "What do you know about him?" "Grant Dermitt?" Kitty said. "The fellow who writes about me. You know." "Oh, yeah. Grant Dermitt. What about him?" "That's what I want to know," Fleetwood said. "What about him?" "I don't know why I enjoy talking to you," Kitty said. "It never gets us anywhere. What do you want to know about this Grant Dermitt? Not that I can tell you anyway." "I want to see him," Fleetwood said. "I have to get in touch with him." "Why don't you call him up on the telephone? He lives somewhere here in town. I heard at the Towers. What do you have to see him about?" "I really don't know," Fleetwood said, "not for sure." "You're funny," Kitty said. "Yeah, I guess I am," Fleetwood reflected. He left the counter and crossed to the phone booths. Picking up the directory he turned to the T's. He looked back at Kitty. "You can bring me some coffee, if you want." "Okay," she nodded and departed in the direction of the urns. * * * * * Finding the listing for the Towers, Fleetwood turned to the telephone and reached toward it. Then he checked himself. He left the booth and returned to the counter where Kitty and the coffee were waiting for him. "Find your number?" Kitty asked. "Uh-huh." He nodded and stared down into the brown liquid in the cup. "Yeah." "Aren't you going to call?" "Yeah. Only all of a sudden I feel funny about it. It's something I've got to do, only I don't know just how to do it, to make it come out right. It's awfully important." He looked up at her quite suddenly. "Do you like me, Kitty?" She smiled with slow confusion. "Sure. I like lots of people." "No," Fleetwood said, shaking his head. "That's not what I mean. Do you _like_ me?" Her gaze moved thoughtfully over his face. "You're funny, like I said," she murmured. "You act--well, kind of daffy. And your ears stick out. But...." She nodded with sudden decision. "Sure, I like you, Fleetwood. I like you fine." Fleetwood grinned at her and realized by the strangeness of it that he was enjoying the sensation for the first time in his life. It was nice to grin at someone. And all at once he knew quite certainly what he had to do--and that it was the right thing to do. He spun around on the stool and started away. Then he stopped and turned back for a moment. "I like you too, Kitty," he said and went into the phone booth. "Well, for Pete's sake!" Kitty said and turned and looked at herself unbelievingly in the mirror behind the register. "Gee whiz!" The Towers was apparently the sort of establishment which believes in bending every effort to prevent the telephone and the English language from going any further than they have to as a means of communication. "And who shall I say is calling?" the supercilious voice of the Towers enquired.