The Return of the Black Widowers by Isaac Asimov Read Free Book Online Page B

grilled."
    "Sorry about that," said Trumbull. "This meathead, Drake, had a story to tell because you came from Berry."
    "Well, then, because I come from Berry, let me add something. Professor St. George died the year I came, as I said, and I didn't know him. But I know many people who did know him and I've heard many stories about him."
    "You mean he was known to be dishonest?" asked Drake.
    "No one said that. But he was known to be unscrupulous and I've heard some unsavory hints about how he maneuvered government grants into yielding him an income. When I heard your story about Lance, Jim, I must admit I didn't think St. George would be involved in quite that way. But now that Henry has taken the trouble to think the unthinkable from the mountain height of his own honesty—why, I believe he's right." Trumbull said, "Then that's that. Jim, after thirty years, you can forget the whole thing."
    "Except—except"—a half smile came over Drake's face and then he broke into a laugh—"I am dishonest because I can't help thinking that if Lance had the questions all along, the bastard might have passed on a hint or two to the rest of us."
    "After you had all laughed at him, sir?" asked Henry quietly, as he began to clear the table.
    Return to Table of Contents

EARLY SUNDAY MORNING
    G
    eoffrey Avalon swirled his second drink as he sat down to the table. It had not yet diminished to the halfway mark and he would take one more sip before abandoning it. He looked unhappy.
    He said, "This is the first time within my memory that the Black Widowers have met without a guest." His bushy eyebrows, still black (although his mustache and trim beard had become respectably gray with the years), seemed to twitch.
    "Oh, well," said Roger Halsted, flicking his napkin with an audible slap before placing it over his knees. "As host this session, it's my decision. No appeal. Besides, I have my reasons." He placed the palm of his hand on his high forehead and made a motion as though to brush back hair that had disappeared from the forepart of his pate years before.
    "Actually," said Emmanuel Rubin, "there's nothing in the bylaws that says we must have a guest. The only thing we must have present at the dinner is no women."
    "The members can't be women," said Thomas Trumbull, glowering out of his perpetually tanned face. "Where does it say that a guest can't be a woman?"
    "No," said Rubin sharply, his sparse beard quivering. "Any guest is a member ex officio for the meal and must abide by all the rules, including not being a woman."
    "What does ex officio mean, anyway?" asked Mario Gonzalo. "I always wondered."
    But Henry was already presenting the first course, which
    35 seemed to be a long roll of pasta, stuffed with spiced cheese, broiled, and sauce-covered.
    At last Rubin, looking pained, said, "As near as I can make out this seems to be a roll of pasta, stuffed—"
    But by that time, the conversation had grown general and Halsted seized a break to announce that he had his limerick for the third book of the Iliad.
    Trumbull said, "Damn it to hell, Roger, are you going to inflict one of those on us at every meeting?"
    "Yes," said Halsted thoughtfully. "I was planning just that. It keeps me working at it. Besides, you have to have some item of intellectual worth at the dinner. . . . Say, Henry, don't forget that if it's steak tonight, I want mine rare."
    "Trout tonight, Mr. Halsted," said Henry, refilling the water glasses.
    "Good," said Halsted. "Now here it is:

    "Menelaus, though not very mighty,
    Was stronger than Paris, the flighty.
    Menelaus did well in
    The duel over Helen,
    But was foiled by divine Aphrodite."

    Gonzalo said, "But what does it mean?"
    Avalon interposed, "Oh, well, in the third book, the Greeks and Trojans decide to settle the matter by means of a duel between Menelaus and Paris. The latter had eloped with the former's wife, Helen, and that was what caused the war. Menelaus won, but Aphrodite snatched Paris away just in time