The shrilling telephone started Hays out of his deep reverie, interrupting the soft, sweet rhythms coming from the stereo. He hesitated a moment, debating whether or not to answer, finally moved to the instrument and picked up the receiver.

“Hays? I need you. . . . Can you come over. . . right away?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, aware of the urgent, almost tearful quality in the voice, then his heart melted and he felt himself grow warm all over, his feelings overruling his intellect.

“Okay, Kirby. I’ll be right there. Do you want to tell me what’s wrong? Or would you rather wait till I get there?”

“Oh, Hays, just come... I can’t talk. Please, come right away. I . . . I need you, Hays.”

Hays dropped the receiver into the cradle without even saying good-bye, rushed to the foyer, tipped his soft black suede coat from its hanger and bolted out the door, hand squirming in his trouser pocket for the car keys as he maneuvered into the coat.