( when henry blake found himself on the receiving end of some spiel about about being maybe-dead and something about a second chance in a funny town, he'd argued at first. "do you have any idea how many kids are dying back there in that war?" he'd asked. "why don't you give one of them another chance, huh?"

but his questions seemed to fall on deaf ears, and eventually he'd accepted the deal, and been shuffled off to the next point.

and that was that. he'd shown up to town right on the verge of fuming about it, determined to find out who he needed to send an official letter to about this whole operation, or, if that failed, who he needed to send an official letter to in order to find out who he needed to send an official letter to.

but that was all hours ago. now that he's at a potluck with a spread of food that is both identifiable and edible, well. he's singing a different tune. in fact he's beaming as he piles his plate with food, practically one step away from whistling a jaunty tune as he goes. )

Boy, isn't this swell? ( he asks his nearest neighbor amicably. ) I think the only thing this little shindig's missing is a good lemon meringue. Don't tell my wife I said this but I think this place could give her recipe a run for its money.