The Darts of Cupid: Stories Read Online Free PDF

me, I thought how odious it was of him always to laugh at his own jokes. And yet I always came when he called, "Come here to me," and by now no one took the trouble anymore to remark that "Prescott-Clark and the Major get on like a house on fire." Sometimes it was related to me that he had been at a party with Constance Ray, and that they both had been very animated, and I was given descriptions of her dress. Once, I saw them at a dance, but only from afar; they were leaving as I arrived.
    ONE DRIZZLY MORNING in the autumn, I slipped as I got out of the bus in front of the gate, fell on the mud-sodden fallen leaves, and grazed the heel of my hand. It did not bleed when I looked at it, but after I started work I saw that I had stained my coding slips. I went to Sergeant Parsons. "Better than having a torn stocking," I said, "what with clothes rationing being the way it is."
    "I’ll clean it up for you," said the Sergeant.
    "I thought you’d say you’d give me a pair of nylons," I remarked. "They do exist, don’t they? And is it really true that they last longer than silk?"
    The Sergeant said, "The harder you work, the sooner the war will be won and the sooner you’ll find out, ma’am. Come along now and get it over with."
    "Get over what?" asked the Major, who had just entered.
    "I’m off to the slaughterhouse, euphemistically known as the ladies’ rest room," I said.
    "Stop clutching your hand," said the Major. "Come over here to the window and show me."
    "I’ll cut off the rough edges, sir," said the Sergeant, who had followed us, "and fix it up with iodine and a bandage."
    "No," said the Major. "No iodine. With that skin of yours, you’ll get an eczema and no end of trouble. Iodine is all right for the sheep and the cows and the horses. But you are too delicate. I won’t have it. Wash it with soap and cold water and let it dry in the air. Let her be, Sergeant."
    When I was coming back from luncheon, Sergeant Parsons approached me. "You women are so stupid, you’ll believe anything. I just thought you’d like to know."
    "How do you mean?" I asked.
    "Telling you you are so delicate. Routine treatment is all right for others but not for you. Because you are so delicate. And you fall for it."
    "He’s a surgeon," I said. "He should know."
    "He knows, all right. He knows only too well what he is after," said the Sergeant. "And if you don’t, it’s about time you did. He’s broken you down so he’s only got to whistle and you come. And he won’t let you go. If I say a word, it’s always, ‘She’s our most brilliant coder, and even if she weren’t, what the hell, I’ve got to have her around, she does me good.’ But what good is he doing you? If I were you, I’d get myself moved. You needn’t raise a finger. I’ll fix it for you."
    I did not speak.
    "Look at it this way," said the Sergeant. "You are only twenty-four, aren’t you, and you are married?"
    "Not fearfully, not frightfully," I said.
    "I know," said the Sergeant, "but you want to think ahead. Maybe when the war is over you’ll want to go back to your husband."
    "What’s all this got to do with the Major?" I said. "You go drown yourself in your iodine. You are barking up the wrong tree. He doesn’t . . . You know quite well he’s never even asked me out. He’s got other fish to fry. He’s got his mistress, with the big blue eyes. And a wife and child in God’s own country."
    "He’s been after you from the very first minute he set foot in this office," said the Sergeant. "First, I thought it would blow over, but it hasn’t. Now you are in it up to your neck, and before long you’ll burn your boats. If I were in your shoes, I’d run for dear life."
    I did not speak.
    "Don’t say I didn’t warn you," he said.
    "Charmed, I’m sure. Much obliged, Sergeant," I said.
    It was after this—only a few days after, it must have been, because the blood crust on my hand had not yet fallen off— when the Major said to me, "I’d be very pleased