The sounds of a television program drifted back over his shoulder as he led the way into his hotel suite. "Rather a nice room, don't you think?" he said. "This is only the second time I've been to Chicago. The last time I went round and saw everything. Mrs. Wrigley's mansion, you know, and those curious flats over a boathouse. Marina City, I believe."
He settled himself on the sofa, a tall and round man with fierce eyebrows and a mouth that seemed to hold the universe in question. He wore a shapeless brown pullover sweater and looked, on the whole, more comfortable than he had in the white linen suit he wore in "The African Queen."
"If it weren't for the sniffles." Morley said, "I would have taken you horse racing and we'd have made some money. Conversation and betting on the horses are my only consolations, you know. When I was in Washington - I say! Look at that!"
On the television screen, David McCallum had leaped from a rooftop into a speeding auto. Morley smiled as if to apologize. "The Man from UNCLE is a great help, isn't it?" he said.
"These wretched publicity tours would be impossible without the telly."
But his nose had started to twitch again, and the warning finger went up in the air. He sneezed. "God bless me, God bless me," Morley said. "If there is a God, of course. Probably isn't. Can you imagine going to heaven and meeting all the dreadful bores you'd spent a lifetime being uncharitable to?"
He pondered. "Of course, I can imagine myself going on to Heaven," he said, "But nobody else. God and I shall be all by ourselves. I say, shall we eat?"
He stood up and began nosing about the room, unearthing a suit jacket and his glasses. "I don't want to go outside with this cold," he said. "Isn't there a restaurant downstairs?" There was, we told him, The Pump Room.
Well then let's eat there, by all means,'' Morley said. "Is the food at all decent?" We said we'd never eaten there.
"Then let's give it a whirl." he said, delighted by his inspiration.
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