The World Shuffler Read Online Free PDF Page B

something a trifle more cozy?” Lafayette asked desperately. “I’d be forever in your debt.”
    “Not on your nickelodiodion, Jack,” Swinehild said briskly. “Cash in advance. Two coppers for the meal, two more for the accommodations, and five for the conversation.”
    Lafayette dug in his pocket, came up with a handful of silver and gold coins. He handed over a fat Artesian fifty-cent piece. “Will that cover it?”
    Swinehild eyed the coin on her palm, bit down on it, then stared at Lafayette.
    “That’s real silver,” she whispered. “For sob-bin’ into your beer, why didn’t you say you was loaded, Lafe—I mean Lafayette? Come on, dearie! For you, nothing but the best!”
    O’Leary followed his guide back inside. She paused to light a candle, led the way up steep steps into a tiny room with a low ceiling, a patchwork-quilted cot, and a round window glazed with bottle bottoms, with a potted geranium on _ the sill. He sniffed cautiously, caught only a faint odor of Octagon soap.
    “Capital,” he beamed at the hostess. “This will do nicely. Now, if you’d just point out the bath? ...”
    “Tub under the bed. I’ll fetch some hot water.”
    Lafayette dragged out the copper hip bath, ; pulled off his coat, sat on the bed to tug at his shoes. Beyond the window, the rising moon gleamed on the distant hills, so similar to the hills of home, and at the same time so different. Back in Artesia, Daphne was probably going in to dinner on the arm of some fast-talking dandy now, wondering where he was, possibly even dabbing away a few tears of loneliness ...
    He wrenched his thoughts away from the mental picture of her slim cuddliness and drew a calming lungful of air. No point in getting all emotional again. After all, he was doing all he could. Tomorrow things would seem brighter. Where there’s a will there’s a way. Absence makes the heart grow fonder ...
    “Of me?” he muttered. “Or of somebody closer to the scene? ...”
    The door opened and Swinehild appeared, a steaming bucket in each hand. She poured them in the bath, tested it with her elbow.
    “Just right,” she said. He closed the door behind her, pulled off his clothes—the rich cloth was sadly ripped and snagged, he saw—and settled himself in the grateful warmth. There was no washcloth visible, but a lump of brown soap was ready to hand. He sudsed up, used his cupped palms to sluice water over his head, washing soap into his eyes. He sloshed vigorously, muttering to himself, rose, groping for a towel.
    “Damn,” he said, “I forgot to ask—”
    “Here.” Swinehild’s voice spoke beside him; a rough cloth was pressed into his hand. O’Leary grabbed it and whipped it around himself.
    “What are you doing here?” he demanded, stepping out onto the cold floor. He used a corner of the towel to clear an eye. The girl was just shedding a coarse cotton shift. “Here,” O’Leary blurted. “What are you doing?”
    “If you’re through with the bathwater,” she said tartly, “I’m taking a bath.”
    O’Leary swiftly averted his eyes—not for aesthetic reasons: quite the opposite. The quick flash he had gotten of her slender body, one toe dipped tentatively in the soapy water, had been remarkably pleasant. For all her straggly hair and chipped nails, Swinehild had a figure like a princess—like Princess Adoranne, to be precise. He mopped his back and chest quickly, gave a quick dab at his legs, turned back the covers, and hopped into the bed, pulling the quilt up to his chin.
    Swinehild was humming softly to herself, splashing in a carefree way.
    “Hurry up,” he said, facing the wall. “What if Alain—I mean Hulk—walks in?”
    “He’ll just have to wait his turn,” Swinehild said. “Not that he ever washes below the chin, the slob.”
    “He is your husband, isn’t he?”
    “You could call him that. We never had no magic words said over us, or even a crummy civil ceremony at the county seat, but you know how it  is.