I still hadn't seen the little man by the time I reached the big white house with the four car garage. The house itself had one of those old colonial porches with six pillars holding up a porch roof with unnecessary solidity. Between the pillars brightly lit huge windows brought a clear view of the interior. A party of some sort was going on. That's the way it looked. People standing in small groups holding glasses. I hesitated. I wanted a three dollar bill, but was it worth it, to go up to the door and ask for someone I didn't know? I decided it was, and went up the walk as though I belonged there. Beside the huge door was a button. I pushed it, and heard a series of chimes ring out. A few seconds later the massive door swung open and a middle aged man with a jovial expression said, "Come in, come in. I'm George Wile. Sarah's somewhere. What's your name? Sorry I can't keep track of all of Sarah's friends." "Ben Smith," I said, stepping inside. "Sarah'll show up in a minute," George Wile said, and promptly forgot me. That was okay by me. I stood by the door looking around, trying to spot the little man. A gorgeous young thing held a tray in front of my face until I took a tall glass that contained, I discovered, an excellent Tom Collins. I couldn't see the little man anywhere. I mosied across the room to the archway to another room where there were more people. He wasn't there either. A distinguished appearing man seemed to be the center of attraction here. I edged into the crowd around him and finally deduced that he had earlier given a book review or lecture or something, and this was the refreshment period before everyone went home. Still no sign of the little man. Suddenly a sharp rapping sounded. I turned my head. A woman with a large bust was pounding a gavel on the small stand. Around me the buzz of conversation dropped off into silence. "Is there a Mr. Ben Smith here?" she asked. "He's here somewhere, Sarah," George Wile's voice sounded loudly. "Where are you, Ben old boy?" I was too startled to speak for a second or two. Then I said, "Yes!" Sarah Fish separated me from the crowd with her eyes, then came toward me. There seemed to be concern, a mixture of pity, and something else in her expression. When she reached me she said in a low voice, "Please come with me, Mr. Smith." No one was paying attention to us. The conversational murmur was on again. I followed her into the front room and around to a door underneath the stairs that arched up to a balcony. * * * * * She opened the door and stood aside for me to go in. There was still that strange something in her expression. I tried to place it, then went past her into the room. The little man was there, standing across the room against a back-drop of shelves filled with books. His piercing eyes flicked at me. Then he lifted his arm and examined his wristwatch.