knees if that’s what it takes.”
CHAPTER XIII
S O I DID, AND SOON , but in a way I didn’t expect. After he left, Homer came, to haul the Jacks off to town, and I had to load him with care, so the wiring wouldn’t get busted. When he left, it was one, and two when I finished eating, the little bit that I did. But I kept having a feeling, of things about to pop, and of having to hug the bag, so as not to get caught by surprise. I decided on some repairing, a reasonable thing as I thought, since at that time of year, except for spinach, pumpkins, and other late stuff of that kind, nothing was growing at all, and there was no field work to be done. I went out to the implement shed and rolled the harrow out. Then I got my kit of tools, sat down there in the patio, and began tightening bolts. I’d been at it some little time before movement caught my eye, and through the living-room windows saw her car stop out front. I kind of made with my back, so she would have to speak first.
But who spoke was a man, and I almost jumped out of my skin when his raspy voice called: “ Hey! Hey you, back there!”
I turned and saw a guy in racetrack clothes, a million miles from anything you’d connect with her. He was in the open living-room door, so she’d apparently brought him in, then asked him to speak to me. He came strutting back, a medium-size man around thirty, with a pasty citified face, a small eyebrow mustache, and a look in the eye that said underworld. I don’t remember speaking, but must have asked if there was something that he wanted, as he said: “I? No. But the lady would like some service.”
“She tongue-tied she can’t ask?”
“She asked me to tell you.”
I walked to the house, trying to make allowance for the state she was in, but still all crossed up as to why she’d be here with this jerk, or give him the idea I was in some way hard to handle. I followed him into the living-room, and there she was on the sofa, still in her hat, still in her new brown suit, looking over brochures that were all spread out on the table. They seemed to be about liquor, from the pictures of bottles and all, and I suddenly remembered what Val had said last night, and had a hunch who this guy was. She looked up and, in a hoity-toity way that wasn’t like her at all, said: “Oh, Duke. Will you take Mr. Lippert’s things? Just put them in the breakfast nook.”
I took his fawn hat, blue scarf, and tan coat, went to the alcove, dumped them on the table, and kept on to the kitchen, trying for a little control. I walked around some minutes, still minding my message to Marge, and telling myself the parade was all hung up until I put the thing over with Holly. It was tough, as Bill had said, but still I had to grin. When I thought I could risk it I went back in the living-room and, as pleasantly as I could, asked if there’d be something else. By then he was on the sofa, sitting close beside her, explaining about some bourbon. He seemed to be making the same pitch Val had spoken of, one to get the Ladyship account. She said: “Please, Duke, a fire. It’s a little chilly in here.”
The furnace worked on a thermostat, so it wasn’t chilly at all, but I went to the cottage, got kindling from the kitchen woodbox, and newspaper from my bedroom. I went back to the living-room, kneeled in front of the fireplace, jammed the paper in, laid the kindling on top. I put a chunk in place, the one Bill had heaved. I put a chunk in front of it and a third one on top. I lit the paper, got up, pushed the fire screen in place. I asked her: “Will that be all, Mrs. Val?”
Instead of answering she let me stand there, turned to him, and asked if the fire wasn’t pretty. He nodded and leaned back comfy. He reached in his pocket and pitched me a half dollar, so it danced on the cocktail table. He reached for her hat, took it off, and dropped it on the sofa. He grinned when she made a face and touched her head to his. I said: “O.K., Mr.
CHAPTER XIII
S O I DID, AND SOON , but in a way I didn’t expect. After he left, Homer came, to haul the Jacks off to town, and I had to load him with care, so the wiring wouldn’t get busted. When he left, it was one, and two when I finished eating, the little bit that I did. But I kept having a feeling, of things about to pop, and of having to hug the bag, so as not to get caught by surprise. I decided on some repairing, a reasonable thing as I thought, since at that time of year, except for spinach, pumpkins, and other late stuff of that kind, nothing was growing at all, and there was no field work to be done. I went out to the implement shed and rolled the harrow out. Then I got my kit of tools, sat down there in the patio, and began tightening bolts. I’d been at it some little time before movement caught my eye, and through the living-room windows saw her car stop out front. I kind of made with my back, so she would have to speak first.
But who spoke was a man, and I almost jumped out of my skin when his raspy voice called: “ Hey! Hey you, back there!”
I turned and saw a guy in racetrack clothes, a million miles from anything you’d connect with her. He was in the open living-room door, so she’d apparently brought him in, then asked him to speak to me. He came strutting back, a medium-size man around thirty, with a pasty citified face, a small eyebrow mustache, and a look in the eye that said underworld. I don’t remember speaking, but must have asked if there was something that he wanted, as he said: “I? No. But the lady would like some service.”
“She tongue-tied she can’t ask?”
“She asked me to tell you.”
I walked to the house, trying to make allowance for the state she was in, but still all crossed up as to why she’d be here with this jerk, or give him the idea I was in some way hard to handle. I followed him into the living-room, and there she was on the sofa, still in her hat, still in her new brown suit, looking over brochures that were all spread out on the table. They seemed to be about liquor, from the pictures of bottles and all, and I suddenly remembered what Val had said last night, and had a hunch who this guy was. She looked up and, in a hoity-toity way that wasn’t like her at all, said: “Oh, Duke. Will you take Mr. Lippert’s things? Just put them in the breakfast nook.”
I took his fawn hat, blue scarf, and tan coat, went to the alcove, dumped them on the table, and kept on to the kitchen, trying for a little control. I walked around some minutes, still minding my message to Marge, and telling myself the parade was all hung up until I put the thing over with Holly. It was tough, as Bill had said, but still I had to grin. When I thought I could risk it I went back in the living-room and, as pleasantly as I could, asked if there’d be something else. By then he was on the sofa, sitting close beside her, explaining about some bourbon. He seemed to be making the same pitch Val had spoken of, one to get the Ladyship account. She said: “Please, Duke, a fire. It’s a little chilly in here.”
The furnace worked on a thermostat, so it wasn’t chilly at all, but I went to the cottage, got kindling from the kitchen woodbox, and newspaper from my bedroom. I went back to the living-room, kneeled in front of the fireplace, jammed the paper in, laid the kindling on top. I put a chunk in place, the one Bill had heaved. I put a chunk in front of it and a third one on top. I lit the paper, got up, pushed the fire screen in place. I asked her: “Will that be all, Mrs. Val?”
Instead of answering she let me stand there, turned to him, and asked if the fire wasn’t pretty. He nodded and leaned back comfy. He reached in his pocket and pitched me a half dollar, so it danced on the cocktail table. He reached for her hat, took it off, and dropped it on the sofa. He grinned when she made a face and touched her head to his. I said: “O.K., Mr.
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