Nothing Can Rescue Me

The plump little man leaned over Gamadge’s shoulder and squeaked in his ear: “Who am I?” “Hutter!” “It’s a wonder you knew me.” Sylvanus Hutter circled Gamadge’s chair, pulled one up for himself, and sat down. He smiled and rubbed his knees. “That last reunion was in 1927.” “Good Heavens.” Gamadge had laid aside his magazine, to gaze benevolently at his old classmate. “ ’27 from ’42 leaves fifteen.” “That’s New York for you! But of course I’m always on the wing; or was,” his face fell, “until recently. Life will be different for awhile, I suppose.” “Plenty of things to see on our continent.”