A Babe in Arms
WE were over at Mac's house one night, two other fellows and myself, helping him empty a post-meeting pot of coffee.
During the second or third round Mac left the room to answer the phone. He was gone quite some time.
When he came back he looked perplexed and not happy. Nobody said anything. We were waiting for Mac to say it. Finally he did.
"When you get mixed up with your own family it's not so good," he said.
Mac was a widower, had no children, and lived alone. We waited with a new interest.
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