Trouble on His Wings Read Online Free PDF Page A

eyed Irish. “I’ll tell him what he
can do with his job. Two hundred and fifty a week for tryin’ to kill yourself.
I’ll—” His gaze lighted upon a basket of flowers on the bureau behind Irish.
“Where’d those come from?”
    â€œDunno,” said Irish.
“Here’s the card.”
    Johnny looked at it.
His brows contracted and he paled. “Read that!”
    Irish read, “To Johnny
with all my love in appreciation of giving me such a lovely scoop; Bert Goddard.
PS Don’t forget you borrowed a hundred off me last night. Love and kisses.”
    Irish was about to
swear, but he heard Johnny at the phone.
    â€œYes, Mr. Felznick . .
. No, Mr. Felznick. Where? Idaho? But my gosh, Mr. Felznick, how . . . But I .
. . Yes, Mr. Felznick.” He hung up, and dared Irish to say anything. “Get
something packed.”
    â€œWhere we goin’?” said
Irish.
    â€œIdaho.
Ninety-thousand-acre forest fire, three towns cut off from the blaze. . . . I
knew it. I knew it. He’s picked the farthest place he could find, that’s what
he’s done, the old—” And then he saw the flowers. “Love and kisses! Wait’ll I
meet that guy Goddard! Just wait. G’wan! What the hell are you standing there
for? Get something packed.”
    Irish looked
embarrassed and backed away from the door he had started through.
    Johnny started to
speak luridly, but stopped, startled to behold a lovely young lady in his silk
dressing gown. She came almost timidly to the threshold of the room.
    â€œWhat—?” began Johnny.
And then, “Oh, so it’s you again, is it? Why don’t you go home?”
    Unable to thoroughly
appreciate that she was getting the brunt of the rage felt against Goddard and
Felznick, she backed up at the snarl in his voice. She wasn’t at all sure of
herself or her welcomeness, and her eyes grew suspiciously bright.
    â€œI . . . I haven’t any
place to go. I can’t go any place! They’d get me. Don’t send me away. Please,
Mr. Brice, don’t throw me out. I’ll be awful good. I’ll keep your place clean
and cook your meals. I’ll be careful and not get in your way. And I won’t eat
much, honest I won’t.”
    Johnny realized that
he had been very rough and that he was making himself look like a brute. And so
he got rougher, because it made him mad. “I don’t care what you do, but get out
of my sight. You . . . you damned Jonah ! That’s what you are, a Jonah. I pick
you up and make the first bull I’ve made in seven years. And now what? And now
I’ve got to go to Idaho and mebbe get burned up in somebody’s lousy forest
fire. I never had any bad luck until you came along.” Again he realized that he
was taking out his utter wretchedness upon her, that he was using her for an
alibi for his own short-sightedness in not examining those films. And because
it made him hate himself, he roared all the louder. “Beat it, and let me die in
peace!”
    Irish squirmed. “He’s
upset, that’s all. Maybe we better go.” And, so saying, he pushed her out of
the door.
    Johnny glumly swung
out of bed and stumbled to his shower. The cold water hit him like bullets and
he gloried in the pain of it. But, while he rubbed himself down, he gradually
smoothed out his temper and dwindled down to muttering only an occasional,
“Idaho!”
    He ate the breakfast
Irish had had sent up from the restaurant below, stabbing at his fruit as
though it was Felznick. “Publicity hound,” he growled. “Idaho!”
    He
drained his coffee cup, and when he set it back he noticed with detached
interest that there was a note under the saucer. He pulled it out and read it.
    Warning. If you don’t get rid of that dame and stop
hiding her, you’ll
be pushing up daisies.
    He blinked at it and
read it through again, to make sure he wasn’t seeing