We stared dumbfoundedly at the man, his smile only growing as he waited for our response, “Well?” He asked, c*****g his head to the side with his eyes narrowed quizzically.
“Sure, sit, please,” Mr Hallard muttered, trying to muster up some confidence but at my detriment. I gave him a sudden, stern, wide-eyed glare and he simply shook his head.
He obeyed, seeming rather joyful to be in our midst for some odd reason, his smile nearly reached the tip of his ears, “Thank you for letting me sit with you,” he acknowledged the both of us, “I'm sure the both of you are wondering–”
“What was your connection to Edison? Why were you at a party you weren't invited to?” The words seemed to fly out of my mouth so loosely, then it was Mr Hallard's turn to give me that glare of dismay.
“Edison? Tatum
