problems, Elmer Bain’s included.
“This is positively the last.”
She wrenched one final volume off the shelf. A yellowed envelope spiraled to the floor. She picked it up and saw the words, “Patent Office” in the corner. She glanced at the title of the book in her hand. It was Mary Webb’s Precious Bane. How dumb could a person get?
Janet didn’t realize she’d asked that question out loud till she heard Elmer call, “You talkin’ to me?”
“No, just cussing myself out for a blind fool. You can quit hunting, Elmer. I think I’ve found it.”
Elmer came in and compared the envelope and the book title, scratching his blond curls with a remarkably dirty paw.
“Well, I’ll be derned! How do you suppose Marion missed seein’ that?”
“No doubt she was too busy looking for secret panels in the woodwork. If I’d had my wits about me, I might have noticed it myself before getting covered from head to foot with dust and cobwebs. Anyway, I’ve done my bit and good luck to ’em. Now I’m going home and lie down. This hand is killing me.”
“Gosh, Janet, I forgot you wasn’t feelin’ good. Want me to walk you over?”
“Thanks, but I’m not that far gone.” Janet laid the envelope on the desk beside the brandy. “Give this to Gilly or Marion, whichever gets here first.”
Elmer backed away. “I don’t want no part of that thing. What if some of the papers are missin’? Gilly’s mother’ll say I took ’em.”
“Oh for the love of Pete!” Janet grabbed the patent and stuffed it in the pocket of her wrapper. “That makes me the goat, as usual. Tell them if they want it, they can come and get it.”
“Janet, I’m sorry.” Bain did look wretched.
“All right, Elmer. I understand how you feel. I’ll just be glad when this foolishness is settled.” If it ever was. Somehow, Janet hadn’t much faith in Precious Bane.
She went over home, peeled off her filthy wrapper and underwear, and took a long shower, soaking her bandage in the process. Bert or somebody would have to help her put on a fresh dressing. No matter; it was worth a little blood poisoning to feel clean again. She put on a change of underclothes and her rosebud wrapper, and stretched out on the bed.
Lying down made her head pound all the worse. “Seems to me I’ve had a splitting headache ever since I found that cussed jar,” she sighed to the cat, who had made himself comfortable on the edge of her robe, always ready to share anybody’s catnap. “I’d better ask Bert to pick up another jar of aspirin when he’s downtown. Julius, where’s it going to end?”
The cat lolled over on his back and stretched out a plush-covered paw. He didn’t give a hoot one way or the other. She’d been lying there a fair while, scratching his stomach and wishing she could share his mood, when Marion Emery blew in.
“Where is it, quick?”
“Right over there on the dresser.”
“What does it say?”
“How should I know? I’m not in the habit of prying into other people’s private business any more than I have to.”
Marion was too busy tearing at the tough, yellowed envelope to listen. With a hand that trembled, she tugged out a sheaf of legal-looking paper. “This is it, all right. Treadway Enterprises Ltd, Charles Percival Treadway and Jason Asaph Bain, principals. Patent for—” she flipped through the pages. “What the hell? Janet, does this make sense to you?”
“Quit flapping those papers around and maybe I’ll be able to see.” In spite of her headache, Janet sat up and steadied Marion’s flying hands so that she could get a look at the patent. “Hold it up so I can—oh Marion, this is ridiculous! A self-emptying washtub. Hadn’t the old fool ever heard of washing machines?”
“Wait a second! How could they have washing machines up here before they ever had electricity?”
“You turned it with a crank, of course. I could show you a better one than that in any old mail-order catalog. If you want
“This is positively the last.”
She wrenched one final volume off the shelf. A yellowed envelope spiraled to the floor. She picked it up and saw the words, “Patent Office” in the corner. She glanced at the title of the book in her hand. It was Mary Webb’s Precious Bane. How dumb could a person get?
Janet didn’t realize she’d asked that question out loud till she heard Elmer call, “You talkin’ to me?”
“No, just cussing myself out for a blind fool. You can quit hunting, Elmer. I think I’ve found it.”
Elmer came in and compared the envelope and the book title, scratching his blond curls with a remarkably dirty paw.
“Well, I’ll be derned! How do you suppose Marion missed seein’ that?”
“No doubt she was too busy looking for secret panels in the woodwork. If I’d had my wits about me, I might have noticed it myself before getting covered from head to foot with dust and cobwebs. Anyway, I’ve done my bit and good luck to ’em. Now I’m going home and lie down. This hand is killing me.”
“Gosh, Janet, I forgot you wasn’t feelin’ good. Want me to walk you over?”
“Thanks, but I’m not that far gone.” Janet laid the envelope on the desk beside the brandy. “Give this to Gilly or Marion, whichever gets here first.”
Elmer backed away. “I don’t want no part of that thing. What if some of the papers are missin’? Gilly’s mother’ll say I took ’em.”
“Oh for the love of Pete!” Janet grabbed the patent and stuffed it in the pocket of her wrapper. “That makes me the goat, as usual. Tell them if they want it, they can come and get it.”
“Janet, I’m sorry.” Bain did look wretched.
“All right, Elmer. I understand how you feel. I’ll just be glad when this foolishness is settled.” If it ever was. Somehow, Janet hadn’t much faith in Precious Bane.
She went over home, peeled off her filthy wrapper and underwear, and took a long shower, soaking her bandage in the process. Bert or somebody would have to help her put on a fresh dressing. No matter; it was worth a little blood poisoning to feel clean again. She put on a change of underclothes and her rosebud wrapper, and stretched out on the bed.
Lying down made her head pound all the worse. “Seems to me I’ve had a splitting headache ever since I found that cussed jar,” she sighed to the cat, who had made himself comfortable on the edge of her robe, always ready to share anybody’s catnap. “I’d better ask Bert to pick up another jar of aspirin when he’s downtown. Julius, where’s it going to end?”
The cat lolled over on his back and stretched out a plush-covered paw. He didn’t give a hoot one way or the other. She’d been lying there a fair while, scratching his stomach and wishing she could share his mood, when Marion Emery blew in.
“Where is it, quick?”
“Right over there on the dresser.”
“What does it say?”
“How should I know? I’m not in the habit of prying into other people’s private business any more than I have to.”
Marion was too busy tearing at the tough, yellowed envelope to listen. With a hand that trembled, she tugged out a sheaf of legal-looking paper. “This is it, all right. Treadway Enterprises Ltd, Charles Percival Treadway and Jason Asaph Bain, principals. Patent for—” she flipped through the pages. “What the hell? Janet, does this make sense to you?”
“Quit flapping those papers around and maybe I’ll be able to see.” In spite of her headache, Janet sat up and steadied Marion’s flying hands so that she could get a look at the patent. “Hold it up so I can—oh Marion, this is ridiculous! A self-emptying washtub. Hadn’t the old fool ever heard of washing machines?”
“Wait a second! How could they have washing machines up here before they ever had electricity?”
“You turned it with a crank, of course. I could show you a better one than that in any old mail-order catalog. If you want
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