you?”
“Yes,” Larry said, surprised.
“You a newspaperman, aint you?”
“Thats right.”
“From Baltimore?” one of the other men said.
“Thats right.”
“Thought that was who you was,” the barber said.
“But how did you know? Who I was,” Larry said.
“See your wife come in every Saturday after groceries,” the barber said. “Heard you took the cabin. This the first time you been in town, aint it?”
“Yes. Thats right.”
“Heard youd been sick,” one of the other men said.
“Thats right. I had pneumonia.”
“Well, these mountainsll fix you right up all right,” the same man said.
Larry grinned. “They just about already have.”
“Well, if you want a good newspaper story to take back to Baltimore with you,” said still another man, one who had not spoken to him yet, as if he were trying to drag his own topic back in and attach it to the rest of the conversation, “theres one right over there for you.” He nodded his head across the street,
Larry was puzzled. “How do you mean?”
“Hes just kiddin’ you,” the barber grinned. “—And, also, tryin’ to get back on the subject. Thats our doll over there, that blonde. Shes quite a gal. We kid with her all the time. Shes a great kidder—”
“—and that aint all,” one of the men interposed—
“—that restaurant sells more beer than any other place in town,” the barber finished up, “just because that gal works there.”
“Here, watch this,” one of the men said, and went to the plate glass window and leaning forward pressed his nose against it and hung his mouth open, eyes goggling, head on one side, for all the world like a kid panting at a candy store window.
Across the street the blonde girl looked up and appeared to be suppressing a grin, then took a salt shaker off the table she was clearing and very ostensibly and disdainfully poured salt from it into the palm of her hand. Behind the cash register the florid owner of the restaurant was grinning.
In the barbership all of the men laughed, including the ogler.
“Got you that time, Perc,” one said. “She poured salt on your tail.”
“She makes me think of a ripe peach,” the barber said. “A big ripe juicy peach, ready to be plucked,”
“My guess is she was plucked a long time ago,” Larry said. It got a laugh all around.
“Oh, sure,” the barber laughed. “That wasnt what I meant. What I meant was the way she looks. You know?”
Larry grinned at him. “Im a married man.” That got another laugh.
“So’m I, pal,” the barber said. “Believe me, so am I. So is all of us. Say,” he grinned, lilting the hair up on his comb. “Shes gettin’ pretty thin on you, Mr. Patterson.”
“Yeah,” Larry said. “Guess Im getting old.”
Again they all laughed. “Well, once she starts to go on you there aint much you can do,” the barber laughed. “Look at me. Why is it three-fourths all the barbers always bald as cue balls?” Apparently it was a sort of catechism.
“Because they use their own tools,” one of the men chanted.
“Well, whatll it be, Mr Patterson,” the barber said removing the apron. “Anything else?”
“No, thatll fix me,” Larry said. Still feeling itchy but also feeling warmly friendly and having enjoyed himself immensely, he got up and paid. He wanted to remember to tell Mona about the whole thing.
Outside he looked up and down the street but Mona was not in sight, and she was not in the car either when he looked. After standing on the sidewalk a minute or two he walked back up to the restaurant across from the barbershop and then went in and sat down and ordered a bottle of beer. Across the street at the barbershop window the men were kidding him, making faces and shaking their heads and shaking their fingers at him. He couldnt help but grin.
“Those bums over there giving you a hard time, Mr. Patterson?” the blonde waitress grinned. She had a husky, wry, sardonic voice.
“No,” he said. “So
“Yes,” Larry said, surprised.
“You a newspaperman, aint you?”
“Thats right.”
“From Baltimore?” one of the other men said.
“Thats right.”
“Thought that was who you was,” the barber said.
“But how did you know? Who I was,” Larry said.
“See your wife come in every Saturday after groceries,” the barber said. “Heard you took the cabin. This the first time you been in town, aint it?”
“Yes. Thats right.”
“Heard youd been sick,” one of the other men said.
“Thats right. I had pneumonia.”
“Well, these mountainsll fix you right up all right,” the same man said.
Larry grinned. “They just about already have.”
“Well, if you want a good newspaper story to take back to Baltimore with you,” said still another man, one who had not spoken to him yet, as if he were trying to drag his own topic back in and attach it to the rest of the conversation, “theres one right over there for you.” He nodded his head across the street,
Larry was puzzled. “How do you mean?”
“Hes just kiddin’ you,” the barber grinned. “—And, also, tryin’ to get back on the subject. Thats our doll over there, that blonde. Shes quite a gal. We kid with her all the time. Shes a great kidder—”
“—and that aint all,” one of the men interposed—
“—that restaurant sells more beer than any other place in town,” the barber finished up, “just because that gal works there.”
“Here, watch this,” one of the men said, and went to the plate glass window and leaning forward pressed his nose against it and hung his mouth open, eyes goggling, head on one side, for all the world like a kid panting at a candy store window.
Across the street the blonde girl looked up and appeared to be suppressing a grin, then took a salt shaker off the table she was clearing and very ostensibly and disdainfully poured salt from it into the palm of her hand. Behind the cash register the florid owner of the restaurant was grinning.
In the barbership all of the men laughed, including the ogler.
“Got you that time, Perc,” one said. “She poured salt on your tail.”
“She makes me think of a ripe peach,” the barber said. “A big ripe juicy peach, ready to be plucked,”
“My guess is she was plucked a long time ago,” Larry said. It got a laugh all around.
“Oh, sure,” the barber laughed. “That wasnt what I meant. What I meant was the way she looks. You know?”
Larry grinned at him. “Im a married man.” That got another laugh.
“So’m I, pal,” the barber said. “Believe me, so am I. So is all of us. Say,” he grinned, lilting the hair up on his comb. “Shes gettin’ pretty thin on you, Mr. Patterson.”
“Yeah,” Larry said. “Guess Im getting old.”
Again they all laughed. “Well, once she starts to go on you there aint much you can do,” the barber laughed. “Look at me. Why is it three-fourths all the barbers always bald as cue balls?” Apparently it was a sort of catechism.
“Because they use their own tools,” one of the men chanted.
“Well, whatll it be, Mr Patterson,” the barber said removing the apron. “Anything else?”
“No, thatll fix me,” Larry said. Still feeling itchy but also feeling warmly friendly and having enjoyed himself immensely, he got up and paid. He wanted to remember to tell Mona about the whole thing.
Outside he looked up and down the street but Mona was not in sight, and she was not in the car either when he looked. After standing on the sidewalk a minute or two he walked back up to the restaurant across from the barbershop and then went in and sat down and ordered a bottle of beer. Across the street at the barbershop window the men were kidding him, making faces and shaking their heads and shaking their fingers at him. He couldnt help but grin.
“Those bums over there giving you a hard time, Mr. Patterson?” the blonde waitress grinned. She had a husky, wry, sardonic voice.
“No,” he said. “So
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