"I'll tell you a good one on the little blighteh. D' you
know what they call him at the Club Amicitia since his adventure
on the street car, Miss Brewster?"
"What?"
"'The Unspeakable Perk.' Rippin', ain't it? Like 'The Unspeakable
Turk,' you know."
Despite herself, Polly's lips twitched; in some ways he WAS
unspeakable.
"They've nicknamed him that because of his trying to help me, and
then--leaving?" she asked.
"Oh, not entirely. There's other things. He's a nahsty, stand-
offish way with him, you know. Don't-want-to-know-yeh trick.
Wouldn't-speak-to-yeh-if-I-could-help-it twist to his face. 'The
Unspeakable Perk.' Stands him right, I should say. There's other
reasons, too."
"What are they?"
She saw a quick, warning frown on Carroll's sharply turned face.
Galpy noted it, too, and was lost in confusion.
"Oh--ah--just gossip--nothing at all. I say, Miss Brewster, the
railway--I'm in the Ferrocarril-del-Norte office, you know--has
offered your party a special on an hour's notice, any time you
want it."
"That's most kind of your road, Mr. Galpy. But why should we want
it?"
"Things might be getting a bit ticklish any day now.
Pages:
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111