High Time Read Free Page B

Mrs. Feeley replied coolly, doubling up her fist and bringing it around in front of her where he could see it.
    ‘An’ you’ll let it rest right there if you know what’s good for you!’ he growled. ‘Just go ahead an’ peddle your papers!’ Here he made the mistake of shoving her.
    The silence was so thick it could have been sliced. Mrs. Rasmussen and Miss Tinkham looked at each other. Then they looked at the man. He had actually laid a hand on Mrs. Feeley.
    ‘Did you see what I seen, Miss Tinkham, dear?’ Mrs. Rasmussen was the first to break the silence.
    ‘I am afraid I did,’ Miss Tinkham replied sadly.
    With one accord the ladies set their beer-mugs on the table. Then, with a movement like greased lightning, they seized the flabbergasted man by the ankles, turned him upside-down, and began to bang his head against the floor. Mrs. Feeley had recovered sufficiently from the outrage to grab him by the seat of the pants with both hands. The ladies used him like an old-fashioned churn-dasher for the space of some three minutes. He wriggled and roared, but to no avail. All at once a triumphant shriek split the air, Mrs. Feeley was the author of it and she deigned to turn loose her grip on his pants.
    ‘Just like I thought!’ she shouted, and straightened up from the floor with a roll of bills in her hand. ‘Dirty liar!’ she yelled, shaking the money in his face. ‘Ain’t you the stinker! Ain’t you ashamed o’ yourself? Had it all the time! An’ you was tryin’ to shake her down!’ Mrs. Feeley’s voice rose as she warmed to her subject.
    The man had resumed an upright position after the ladies dropped him with scant ceremony at Mrs. Feeley’s first gloating shriek. He muttered something about must have tried to put it in his pocket and it went in his shirt by mistake, or some such rot. He looked sheepish and was about to efface himself silently when Mrs. Rasmussen grabbed him by the sleeve.
    ‘No, you don’t!’ she droned. ‘What about the lady’s feelin’s? Ain’t you got no ’couth at all?’
    ‘I ’pologize,’ the fellow mumbled.
    ‘You’ll have to do better’n that,’ his tormentor continued. ‘Take at least a sawbuck to soothe her wounded feelin’s!’
    The man peeled off a ten-dollar bill and threw it in front of the girl. He was sweating and glad to leave.
    ‘Whew!’ Mrs. Feeley said, sitting down in the booth. ‘Guess you’re glad we come along,’ she said brightly. ‘I don’t know what would of happened without you,’ the girl smiled gratefully. ‘We all need a drink after that! You ladies sit down, all of you!’ she invited graciously.
    ‘I am Miss Agnes Harriet Tinkham and this is Mrs. Rasmussen. The lady beside you is Mrs. Feeley,’ said Miss Tinkham, ever mindful of the amenities.
    ‘I’m Darleen, and I’m sure pleased to become acquainted with you. Will you have some more of the same?’ she inquired, as the waiter stood ready to take their order. The ladies nodded.
    ‘Three large beers and a limeade!’ Darleen ordered. ‘I don’t never drink nothing but Seven-Up, but I feel the need of something a little stronger after all that struggle. He wouldn’t of had the crust if my boy-friend was here. He don’t approve of me working here, but I get lonely looking at the four walls with him away so much.’
    ‘He in the Navy?’ Mrs. Feeley asked.
    ‘Unh-huh!’ The girl shook her head—‘merchant marine. He’s awfully nice. I don’t have nothin’ to do with any of my gentlemen friends at all when Johnny’s in port. I tell them flat out: don’t go calling me up at all. I’m out of circulation.’
    Miss Tinkham cleared her throat.
    ‘Your fiancé, I take it?’
    ‘Not exactly,’ Darleen replied.
    ‘You an’ him fixin’ to marry?’ Mrs. Feeley asked.
    ‘I don’t know. I don’t think we’re the marrying type. Seems like so many couples get along like love-birds in a cage, but the minute they get married they start fighting and arguing!