"DORTMUNDER! JOHN DORTMUNDER! ARE YOU THERE, JOHN DORTMUNDER?"

"Aack!" Dortmunder recoiled, flinging his telephone hand as far from his body as he could without surgery.

"JOHN DORTMUNDER! IS THAT YOU?"

"Don't shout!"

"What?"

"Don't shout!"

The phone muttered something. Cautiously Dortmunder allowed it to approach his head. The phone muttered, "This is it? I come back and the phones don't work?"

"Arnie?" This was three weeks since the non-meeting at the O.J.

"There you are! Hello to you, John Dortmunder!"

"Yeah, hello, Arnie. So you're back, are you?"

"Not ten minutes since I finished unlockin the door."

"So it didn't work, huh?" Dortmunder was not surprised.

But Arnie, not quite shouting, cried, "Whadaya mean, it didn't work? A course it worked! I graduated with honors, John Dortmunder. What you see before you is a changed man."

"Well, I'm not seeing you," Dortmunder pointed out, "and I have to say, you don't sound that different."

"Well, it's a makeover, that's all," Arnie explained, as Dortmunder's faithful companion, May, came into the living room with a pen in her hand (she'd been doing a crossword puzzle in the kitchen) and an expression of concern on her face, wondering what all the racket was about. "It's not like they slid a new chassis in," Arnie went on. "I'm still the same physical plant like I was before, except my skin is all this khaki color."

"Well, you been in the tropics," Dortmunder said, as he showed May an elaborate combined shoulder shrug, head shake, eyebrow waggle, and torso twist, to indicate that he didn't know so far exactly what was going on, but it didn't seem to include any imminent threat.