She nodded. She knew how that was.
'I've never made much money,' I said, 'and! figured a little education might help. This was cheap, and it sounded good in the catalogues. At that, I almost got right back on the train when I saw what it looked like.'
'Yes,' she said, grimly, 'I know what you mean. But-you are going to give it a try, aren't you?'
'I kind of think I will,' I said. 'Now, will you tell me something?'
'IfI can.'
'Are those real?'
'Those? What-Oh,' she said, and laughed softly. 'Boy,
'Well?'
'Well-' She leaned forward, suddenly. Eyes dancing, watching my face, she moved her shoulders from side to side, up and down, And then she stepped back quickly, laughing, holding me away with her hands.
'Huh-uh. No, sir, Carl! I don't know why-I must be losing my mind to let you get away with that much.'
'Just so you don't lose anything else,' I said, and she laughed again.
It was louder and huskier than any of the others. It was like those laughs you hear late at night in a certain type of saloon. You know. The people are all in a huddle at one end of the bar, and they're all looking at this one guy, their lips pulled back a little from their teeth, their eyes kind of glassy; and all at once his voice rises, and he slaps his hand down on the counter. And you hear the laughter.
'Sweet'-she gave me another quick pat on the cheek- 'just as sweet as he can be. Now, I've got to get downstairs and throw something together for dinner, It'll be about an hour from now in case you'd like to take a nap.'
I said I might do that, after I'd unpacked, and she gave me a smile and left. I started stowing my things away.
I was pretty well satisfied with the way things were going. For a minute or two, I'd thought I was moving too fast, but it seemed to have worked out okay. With a dame like her, if she really liked you, you could practically throw away the brakes.
I finished unpacking, and stretched out on the bed with a true-detective story magazine.
I turned through the pages, locating the place I'd left off:
… thus the story of Charlie (Little) Bigger, the deadliest, most elusive killer in criminal history. The total number of his slayings-for-hire will probably never be known, but he has been officially charged with sixteen. He is wanted for murder in New York, Philadelphia, Chicago and Detroit,
Little Bigger vanished as from the face of the earth in 1943, immediately following the gangland slaying of his brother and contact-man, 'Big Luke' Bigger. Exactly what became of him is still a topic for heated discussion in police and underworld circles. According to some rumors, he died years ago of tuberculosis. Others would have it that he was a victim of a revenge murder, like his brother, 'Big.' Still others maintain that he is alive. The truth, of course, is simply this: No one knows what happened to Little Bigger, because no one knew him. No one, that is, who survived the acquaintance.
All his contacts were made through his brother. He was never arrested, never fingerprinted, never photographed. No man, naturally, who was as murderously active as he could remain completely anonymous, and Little Bigger did not. But the picture we get, pieced from various sources, is more tantalizing than satisfying.
Assuming that he is still alive and unchanged, Little Bigger is a mild-looking little man, slightly over five feet tall and weighing approximately one hundred pounds. His eyes are weak, and he wears thick-lensed glasses. He is believed to be suffering from tuberculosis. His teeth are in very bad condition, and many of them are missing. He is quick-tempered, studious, a moderate smoker and drinker. He looks younger than the thirty to thirty- five years which, according to estimates, he is now.
Despite his appearance, Little bigger can be very Ingratiating, particularly in the case of women..
I tossed the magazine aside. I sat up and kicked off the elevator shoes. I walked to the high-topped dresser, tilted the mirror down and opened my mouth. I took out my upper and lower plate. I pulled my eyelids back-first one, then the other-and removed the contact lenses.
I stood looking at myself a moment, liking the tan, liking the weight I'd put on. I coughed and looked into my handkerchief, and I didn't like that much.
I lay back down on the bed, thinking I was sure going to have to watch my health, wondering if it would do me much damage when I started making love to her.
I closed my eyes, thinking… about her… and him… and The Man… and Fruit Jar… and this crappy- puke looking house and the bare front yard and the squeaking steps and- and that gate.
My eyes snapped opened, then drooped shut again. I'd have to do something about that gate. Someone was liable to walk by the place and snag their clothes on it.
3
I met Mr. Kendall, the other boarder, on the way down to dinner. He was a dignified, little old guy- the kind who'd remain dignified if he got locked in a nickel toilet and had to crawl under the door. He said he was very happy to meet me, and that he would consider it a privilege to help me get settled in Peardale. I said that was nice of him.
'I was thinking about work,' he said, as we went into the dining room. 'Coming in late this way, it may be a little difficult. The part-time jobs are pretty well sewed up, by now. But I'll keep my eyes open at the bakery-we employ more student help than any place in town, I believe-and it's just possible that something can be worked out.'
'I wouldn't want you to go to any trouble,' I said.
'No trouble. After all, we're all living here together, and- ab, that looks very good, Mrs. Winroy.'
'Thanks.' She made a little face, brushing a wisp of hair Out of her eyes. 'We may as well see how it tastes. Heaven only knows when Jake will get here.'
We all sat down. Mr. Kendall more or less took over the job of passing things, while she slumped in her chair, fanning her face with her hand. She hadn't been just kidding about throwing dinner together. Apparently she'd dashed out to the store for an armload of canned goods.
It wasn't bad, you understand. She'd bought a lot of everything, and it was all topgrade. But she could have done twice as well with half the money and a little more effort.
Mr. Kendall sampled his asparagus and said it was very good. He sampled the anchovies, the imported sardines and the potted tongue and said they were very good. He tapped his mouth with his napkin, and I was expecting him to say that it was very good. Or maybe he'd give her a nice juicy compliment on her can opener. Instead he turned and glanced toward the door, his head cocked a little to one side.
'That must be Ruth,' he said, after a moment. 'Don't you think so, Mrs. Winroy?'
Mrs. Winroy listened. She nodded. 'Thank God,' she sighed, and began to brighten up. 'I was afraid she might stay away another day.'
'Ruth is the young lady who works here,' Mr. Kendall told me. 'She's a student at the college, too. A very fine young woman, very deserving.'
'Yeah?' I said. 'Maybe I shouldn't say so, but it sounds to me like she's got a broken piston.'
He gave me a blank look. Mrs. Winroy let out with the guffaw again.
'Silly!' she said. 'That's her father's car, her Pa, she calls him. He drives her back and forth from their farm whenever she goes home for a visit.'
