An Officer and a Lady Read Online Free PDF

she caught sight of the old dried up woman that looked through at her.
    “Is this Robinson’s?” I asked.
    “Naw,” she said. The door slammed in my face.
    I looked at the number over the door, then at the sign on the street corner, then at the niece. “This is 6123 Bath Avenue,” I said sternly.
    For answer she sat down on the porch step and began to cry. “I thought it was 6123,” she said between sobs.
    She got all right in a minute or two, and we started for the nearest drug store to look at a directory. Then she remembered that the Robinsons had moved down there only a few months ago, so the directory would be useless. She stopped and began to think.
    “It might have been 6132,” she said.
    I left her at the drug store, and tried 6132, 6312, 6321, 6231 and 6213. Then I got desperate and went about three miles down to 3261. Just to save time and paper, figure out for yourself how many combinations there are in that damnable figure. I got back to the drug store about six o’clock.
    “Nothing doing,” I said, as friendly as I could. “There’s no Robinsons in Bath Beach. There’s only one thing to do. Come home with me. My wife’ll be glad to have you.”
    The niece got ready to cry again. “But I can’t,” she said. “She doesn’t know me.”
    “I can introduce you, can’t I?” I demanded. “Unless you want to stay at a hotel.” But I could see she wouldn’t do that.
    She was silent for a minute; then, “I’m going back to Poughkeepsie,” she said. “When can I get a train?”
    I could see she meant it, and besides, I realized it was the best thing to do. So I didn’t waste any time in argument.
    On the trip back my spirits jumped a notch every time the wheels went round. It was a combination of relief and expectation that I can’t exactly define. I suppose I should have had a premonition, but I know I didn’t.
    At Grand Central we found out that the next train to Poughkeepsie was at 8:20. I looked at the niece. She was leaning against the window rail and seemed kind of limp.
    “That’s an hour,” she said, glancing at the clock.
    “Yes,” said I. “What’s the matter? Don’t you feel well?” She was gazing across the room in a kind of trance. Looking in the same direction I saw a big double door, and over the top the word “Restaurant.”
    Of course I should have thought of it sooner, but I’d been so darned busy looking for Robinsons I hadn’t had time for anything else.
    “Good Lord!” I exclaimed. “We haven’t had anything to eat since morning!”
    “Yesterday,” she said. “I never eat breakfast.”
    Instinctively we started together for the big double doors. About halfway across I suddenly stopped. “Listen,” I said. “We have a full hour. Why not go to a good place? It’s close.”
    “Anywhere,” said the niece. “But I don’t want to miss the train.”
    Why I chose Rector’s I don’t know. But I did. It was pretty well crowded but we found a table over on the Broadway side, and I ordered everything I could recognize.
    The companionship of the knife and fork has always appealed to me. I suppose that’s what made me feel so friendly; but there were other considerations. When two people go to Brooklyn together they are forever bound by a sort of mutual sympathy. Also, I felt grateful to her for going back to Poughkeepsie instead of coming home with me. So by the time we’d finished with the roast we were almost chummy. It had even got to the place where I was trying to show her the advantages of being married. When I got through she stretched a hand across the table to me.
    “Mr. Keeler,” she said, “I believe you. I really don’t know anything about it, but I’ll take your word for it. And after all your kindness to me, I’d like to congratulate the girl that was lucky enough to get you. I’d like to meet your wife.”
    Suddenly she stopped and looked up. So did I. Two women and a man had stopped on their way out and were looking down at us.