"Splendid, absolutely splendid, Mr. Olstien," The Colonel answered as he stuffed some more chili in his mouth.

"I must agree," Stan, with a smudge of brown on his chin, remarked; his bowl had been emptied (for the second time) some time ago.

"I see you've barely touched your chili, Ms. Sunderland. Do you not like it?" Carl asked her, there was a sympathetic look on his face.

She seemed embarrassed; she shook her head and began to eat the chili again. "No, no," she told him. "I'm trying to watch my figure. I hope I haven't offended you, sir?"

"No. Of course not, Ms. Sunderland," Carl replied.

"Please, call me Kathy," the model said with a huge smile; she scooped up some chili and put it in her mouth.

"I didn't know ladies like to go hunting," Mr. Zander remarked.

"My father used to take me hunting almost every Sunday morning," she replied. "I didn't like it a first, but eventually I grew accustomed to it. It got to the point where I would beg my father to take me hunting."

"I asked my wife once, to go hunting with me. She just laughed and laughed," Stan remarked. "I never asked her again."

Carl stood from the table and stretched. "Tomorrow we head out hunting. I'm going to get some sleep." He gulped down the rest of his brew, said goodnight, then went to bed.

Randy watched, interestedly, as the old man disappeared down the hallway. And when he saw that the old man had finally entered his room, confident that Carl would not be able to hear the conversation at the dinner table, he then said, "Funny? He didn't eat. He just drank that silly brew of his."

"He probably wasn't hungry," Stan, who was sitting by his brother, replied.

"Mr. Olstein might have eaten earlier, Mr. Hemmingway" The Colonel interjected, sounding alarmed by the way Randy was talking behind their most generous host's back; sighing heavily, he got up. "I'm going to bed too. The trip here was a long one."

"Goodnight Colonel," Stan said.

"I'm going to read; nothing like a good book after a hearty meal," Mr. Zander said, rising from the table.

Stan, stuffing another spoonful in his mouth, his eyebrows rising, turned to his brother. "Why did you mention that?"

Randy replied gruffly, "Mention what?"

"That comment about Mr. Olstein not eating? Do you have some sort of sinister explanation in thatmessed up head of yours?"

"I just found it peculiar . . . is that so wrong?"

Stan shrugged. "I guess not." He then added whisperingly, "You've got something to say, say it."

Randy turned to his brother and, with a stern look on his face, grumbled softly, "He might be trying to poison us."

Stan's eyes opened widely as he let loose what seemed a belly full of laughter, distracting the model from her food for a few seconds.

"Randy . . . Randy, you are a character." The brother still laughing, got up from the table, patted his stomach, and said; "I'm going to bed, Randy." He turned to the model, "Goodnight Ms. Sunderland."

She replied with a smile. "Goodnight, Mr. Hemmingway."

"Please, call me Stan."

"Ok," she replied with another smile, "sure."

"That's the reason," (refering to the laughter), "I don't tell you anything Stan. I'll be up in a minute," he told him.

"You're a good man, Randy. A little strange, but nonetheless, a good man." With that said, Stan started for the apartment.