Hunter Douglas had gotten the old generator working, which moved him up considerably in May's estimation. He had also managed to drag up the cumbersome radio from the cellar, placing it on the countertop in the kitchen. He had worked on the radio as well, with some rusty tools he had found down there. May was impressed. She had figured him for a man who never saw the outside walls of an office and therefore assumed he would have no mechanical ability. When she jokingly told him this, he smiled faintly. “I sometimes suffer from insomnia and often turn on a do-it-yourself cable station in the middle of the night, hoping it will knock me out. It hasn't cured my insomnia, but I have learned how to plant an asparagus bed, put up dry wall, wire an enclosed porch, decorate with style on a shoestring, and cook a Cornish game hen.” He paused, then added, “I hate Cornish game hens. They look like diminutive pigeons.”
