In And Out Part 15

"There's nothing else to do!" Anthony cried desperately. "You--er--you don't understand this hotel, young woman. A woman seen leaving one of these apartments and going out of the house, more especially at this time of the day--er----"

He flushed angrily.

"Yes, I know," Mary said helpfully. "But I'm not going out in those clothes if I stay here and die of old age."

And here, from the end of the corridor, Johnson Boller's deep, carrying voice came:

"Has he kicked the kid out yet, Wilkins?"

"Not yet, sir," said Wilkins's grave tone.

"What? Is he going to keep him here after all?"

"I should judge so, sir. There's been no disturbance down that way."

"Well, what," Johnson Boller muttered audibly, "do you know about that?"

"It's most distressing, sir!" Wilkins replied.

Anthony Fry's pupils dilated.

"He's coming down here, I think!" he said. "Get on that wig again!"

"Why?" Mary inquired, pausing in the process of knotting up her wonderful hair.

"Because Boller--Boller----" Anthony stammered wildly. "There is no need of his knowing that you're a--a young woman, now or in future. I am speaking for your own sake, you know. You may meet him a thousand times elsewhere in years to come, and there's a mean streak in Boller which----"

"Is there?" Mary asked, with what was really her very first touch of concern since resuming her proper s.e.x. "Give me the wig, then."

Fortunately, at the living-room end of the corridor, Johnson Boller devoted a good five minutes to meditation. He had finished his usual lightning morning tub and resumed his bathrobe in a more cheerful frame of mind, quite confident that David Prentiss was no longer in their midst. He had even prepared a peppery line of chaffing for the breakfast table, the same dealing with the visit of a pretty little French girl to the irreproachable apartment and the various methods by which Anthony Fry could explain the matter to the management, should he be requested to explain.

Yet David was still with them and--if quiet down there meant anything--with them to stay. Anthony's trouble remained with him this morning; even now, undoubtedly, he was sitting in there and hurling opportunity again and again at David's invulnerable armor--and if the idiotic idea had taken as firm a grip as that the end might be days away, just as it had been in the case of the yeggmen.

It gibed not at all with Boller's plans for his visit to Anthony. He caressed his chin and scowled for a little; later, he smiled grimly.

After all, there are more ways of killing a cat than by drowning the animal in champagne--and David was a tender shoot as yet.

Johnson Boller flexed his muscles and examined his smile in the mirror.

It was a broad, genial expression, all warm and friendly; and without permitting one of its curves to slip from place he strode down the corridor and threw open the door of David Prentiss's chamber.

Hunched up in his big bathrobe, the boy was sitting on the edge of the bed, while Anthony stood across the room with his back wisely to the light. It was entirely plain that the trouble had gone up in smoke and that the presumably angry interview had flattened out to a love feast; David had not been and, so far as concerned Anthony, would not be ejected--yet instead of protesting Johnson Boller said jovially:

"Licked him into shape, eh?"

"Ah--David has explained," Anthony managed.

"Got the trouble all smoothed over, eh?"

"Yes."

Johnson Boller laughed mightily and winked at David. Further, he stepped over and slapped David's back--no mere friendly tap, but a whack that nearly sent him from the bed.

"Who was the squab, kid?" he cried. "Who----"

"Don't hit him like that!" Anthony gasped.

"What?"

"The boy----"

"Tap like that won't hurt him!" Johnson Boller chuckled as David, suppressing a shriek, managed to grip the bed and regain his balance.

"Who was the Gallic chicken, my lad?"

"A--a friend of mine," David said weakly.

"I betcher!" said Johnson Boller significantly. "I got a line on her the second I laid eyes on her, kid. Now, I want to tell you something.

You're a young sport and these things look different to you now, but the long and the short of a dizzy little----"

"Johnson!" Anthony broke in.

"What now?"

"It--it is not necessary to advise David," said David's captor, quite thickly, for he was familiar with Johnson Boller's views on many subjects and his manner of airing them. "The boy has--er--explained the--ah--young woman and----"

He could get no farther. Johnson Boller eyed him with an amused and quizzical grin.

"Going to keep this kid with you?"

"For a time, yes."

"You know, you're a funny character, Anthony," Boller mused. "If your great-grandmother came to this joint to have a cup of tea with you, you'd want her to stop at the desk and show her pedigree and the family Bible, just so they'd be sure she was your great-grandmother, and your lovely reputation wouldn't have a spot of suspicion on it as big as a pinpoint. But you go and rake this kid off the streets and when his lady friends come in----Where did she come from, kid, and how did she get up here?"

His smile broadened happily as he observed that David had not yet ceased wiggling his back in search of broken bones.

"I explained all that to Mr. Fry," David said rather sulkily.

"I know, Davy, but that doesn't count for anything," Mr. Boller chuckled. "You see, Mr. Fry's a bachelor--has been all his life and expects to be if he lives to be a hundred. What he doesn't know about females in general would fill a string of libraries from here to Battery Park and half way across to Staten Island.

"You've probably told him the squab was your sister and he fell and said what a pretty sister she was. But as for _me_, Dave--you couldn't put that stuff over if you tried a month. I'm the original specialist in everything female; I've got a kind of sixth sense that tells me all about them before I've even seen 'em and after I've looked at 'em once I can tell you where they were three weeks ago last Sat.u.r.day night. You can't fool me when it comes to women."

"Well, now, suppose we drop the subject and----" Anthony began agitatedly.

"Let me slip this kid some real advice," said Mr. Boller. "Davy, I know all sorts of women--good and bad and the kind you think are all right, but aren't! Get me? You're only a boy, and offhand I'd say that this French damsel belonged in the latter cla.s.s. At a guess, you met her----"

"Stop!" cried Anthony Fry in pure terror.

Johnson Boller gazed mildly at him.

"If you're going to adopt this kid, Anthony, you might better let me put him wise to some of his past mistakes and tell him how to avoid 'em in his new life. I don't know what lie he put over on you, but you know as well as I do that the just-right kind of boy isn't receiving mysterious calls before seven in the morning from a highly affectionate----"