Byron's face
brightened at her arrival.
"Is this man filling your ear with World War II stories?" She
handed the bag to Byron.
"I haven't even gotten to those yet," Byron said as he stood.
"Another day."
He made introductions. "Gracie, this boy is the one who invented
all those pesky little computers littering everyone's desks out
there," Byron said. "He's also been the best conversation I've
had here in awhile. Mr. Jones, it's been nice talking to you."
"Likewise," said Peter. The two men shook hands.
"Why don't you come by our house for dinner. Saturday night."
Byron said, tapping his shirt pocket for his pen.
"Thank you, that's very kind. But I've been sticking pretty much
to myself, and I'm not much company - "
"Nonsense! Eight o'clock," Byron said, scribbling his address on
a paper napkin.
"All right then, I'll be there. But I have a friend coming. Would
it be okay if I brought her?"
"Can she dance?"
"No, but she can sing."
"Of course," Grace said. "Please bring her along." The couple
said good-bye and then strolled off holding hands.
With some amusement, Peter settled into his chair and thought
about the irony of meeting Byron Holmes here. It wasn't all that
unusual, since Camden was where so many men like Byron spent
their summers. Yet, of all the people in the world, he'd never
guessed he'd shake hands with the man whose surname was
synonymous with the world's first tabulating machines.
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