The Old Man and Me Read Online Free PDF

business. A rich wife. A widower. Patron of the Arts. Very generous. He doesn’t have to do anything, silly child, he simply is.”
    “It’s the Brigadier General part that interests me,” said Smitty. “It’s for a series of profiles, Famous Faces that Saved England. From what, ha, ha. Dear old-fashioned World War II is all the rage now. Nostalgia. What really happened at Invergordon when the Fleet mutinied. The Fleet if you please. And foot soldiers and all that lark. Anyway rumour runs that the old boy across from us single-handed broke the Jap naval code so all the Allies knew what our little yellow brothers were up to way before they did. He was a bright bloke, McKee, I’ll give you that. I think it’s a shame he’s gone to seed playing at idle rich.”
    “Well I don’t care. I think he’s a horror,” insisted Dody.
    “How long since you last saw him?” asked Bollie. “I assure you he’s altered so in the past year you’d scarcely recognize him. Positively mellow, my dear. Not a trace of the old irascibility. Sad in a way.”
    “Not for the rest of the world,” said Dody. “Every time I’ve run across him at a party he’s been in the middle of some awful remark. I once overheard—well, overheard is hardly the word his voice carries so—I once heard him advising someone to get rid of his wife if he wanted to be taken up by the right people. He wasn’t joking. Can you imagine? The spite and malice. I think he’s a dangerous nut. Like my husband,” she added bitterly.
    He was still smiling at me from across his table. I smiled back. I was beginning to feel his danger and excitement. “He is a nut,” I said exultantly, “and I am a nutcracker. I am going to crack him! Well, why not?” I added calming down. “I mean he’s got the reputation for being a lady’s man, hasn’t he?”
    “How would you know that?” asked Smitty. “I thought he was strictly an English product. Home-grown. I shouldn’t have thought his special kind of snob-appeal had travelled across the ocean.”
    “As a matter of fact I’ve been interested in him ever since I read one of his books of poetry. We do have books in America you know. It was beautiful.”
    “Well, you may be right,” said Smitty doubtfully. “I hope you are. Maybe I can sell my series to some Yank paper.”
    And then, I suppose, we continued eating. Luckily I was seated next to Smitty. I leaned over to him. “You do want to talk to him about it, don’t you?”
    “Rather.”
    “I think I can arrange it.”
    “I think you can too. He’s really giving you the eye.”
    “O.K. Leave it to me. Only watch the progress of our meal so that he doesn’t leave before us.”
    “Rightyho. No fear. We’ll skip the coffee if necessary.”
    It wasn’t. C. D. had no intention of leaving before us. He lingered and lingered; drinking his brandy and drinking in me.
    We finished the meal. We were ready to go. The waiter, being no fool, presented Smitty with the check. I offered to pay it. I caught him hesitating for a minute and then decide against it. Too tricky in front of C. D. So he let me off the hook and we got up to go. Bollie and Dody walked through the restaurant, paused to pay their respects to C. D., and walked on. I pulled Smitty back pretending to have mislaid my purse so that the coast would be clear. I checked my face in my pocket mirror and wet my lips to make them glisten. C. D.’s eyes were on me again, practically rolling me up to his side. I took a deep breath. Give, I told myself, with evvverrrrrything you’ve got. I advanced the necessary steps and parked myself right smack in front of him. He rose. Smitty poked around from behind me and quickly spoke his piece. They’d met several times. Mr. McKee wouldn’t remember. At a Whitechapel Gallery exhibition last. Ah, yes. Well, he Smithers was a journalist on the so on and so forth and doing a series called and so on and so forth and most anxious if McKee could spare the time for a