It was a quiet Saturday morning in the office, with Wolfe up in the plant rooms as usual from nine to eleven, and I finished typing the report of a certain case with no interruptions except a couple of phone calls which! handled myself, and one for which I had to give Wolfe a buzz-from somebody at Mummiani's on Fulton

Street to say that they had just got eight pounds of fresh sausage from Bill

Darst at Hackettstown, and Wolfe could have half of it. Since Wolfe regards

Darst as the best sausage-maker west of Cherbourg, he asked that it be sent immediately by messenger, and for heaven's sake not with dry ice.

When at 11.1, the sound of Wolfe's elevator came, I got the big dictionary in front of me on my desk, opened to H, and was bent over it as he entered the office, crossed to his over-sized custom-built chair, and sat. He didn't bite at once because his mind was elsewhere. Even before he rang for beer he asked, “Has the sausage come?

Without looking up I told him no.

He pressed the button twice-the beer signal-leaned back, and frowned at me. I didn't see the frown, absorbed as I was in the dictionary, but it was in his tone of voice.

“What are you looking up? he demanded.

“Oh, just a word, I said casually. “Checking up on our client. I thought she was illiterate, her calling you handsome-remember? But, by gum, it was merely an understatement. Here it is, absolutely kosher: "Handsome: moderately large." For an example it gives "a handsome sum of money." So she was dead right, you're a handsome detective, meaning a moderately large detective. I closed the dictionary and returned it to its place, remarking cheerfully, “Live and learn!