Read Online BUtterfield 8 by John O'Hara - Free Book Online Page B

on the wagon after Friday,” said Norma.
    “I did.”
    “Oh, that. That’s mine,” said Gloria. “I bought it for Eddie because I wanted to get in his good graces. You see I thought I was going to have to spend the day here and I was going to bribe Eddie to go uptown to one of the Broadway shops, I think there are some open on Sunday night, they always seem to be open. But then he suggested you, and I think you’re perfectly darling to do this. I’ll hang this up in one of your closets, Eddie, and call for it tomorrow. I’ve been intending to put it in storage but I keep putting it off and putting it off—”
    “I know,” said Miss Day.
    “—and then last night I was glad I hadn’t, because a cousin of mine that goes to Yale, he and a friend arrived in an open car and it was cold. No top. They were frozen, but they insisted on driving out to a house party near Princeton.”
    “Oh. Weren’t your family worried? You didn’t go home then?”
    “The car broke down on the way back at some ungodly hour this morning. Bob, my cousin’s friend, took us to a party when we got back to town and that’s where I got in the crap game.”
    “But what about your cousin? I should think—”
    “Passed out cold, and he’s not much help anyway. Not that he’d let them make me give up my dress, but he can’t drink. None of our family can. I had two drinks of that Scotch and I’m reeling. I suppose you noticed it.”
    “Oh, no. But I can never tell with other people till they start doing perfectly terrible things,” said Miss Day.
    “Well, I feel grand. I feel like giving a party. By the way, before I forget it, if you give me your address I’ll have these things cleaned and send them to you.”
    “All right,” said Miss Day, and gave her address.
    “Let’s go to the Brevoort, but my treat.”
    “I thought you lost all your money,” said Miss Day.
    “I did, but I cashed a check on the way downtown. A man that works for my uncle cashed it for me. Shall we go?”
     • • • 
    The nose of the Packard convertible went now up, now down. The car behaved like an army tank on a road that ordinarily was used only by trucks. Paul Farley, driving, was chewing on his lower lip, and the man beside him, looking quite pleased with himself and the world at large, was holding his chin up and dropping the ashes of his cigar on the floor of Farley’s car.
    “Let’s stop,” said the man. “Just take one more look. See how it looks from here.”
    Farley stopped, none too pleased, and looked around. It did please him to look at the nearly finished house; it was his work. “Looks pretty swell to me,” he said.
    “I think so,” said Percy Kahan. He was just learning to say things like “I think so” when he meant “You’re damn right.” People like Farley, you never knew when they were going to say something simple, like “You’re damn right,” or something sophisticated, restrained, like “I think so.” But it was better to err on the side of the restrained than the enthusiastic. Besides, he was the buyer; Farley was still working for him as architect, and it didn’t do to let Farley think he was doing too well.
    “A swell job. I know when I’ve done a swell job, and I’ve done one for you, Mr. Kahan. About the game room, my original estimate won’t cover that now. I could have done it earlier in the game, but I don’t suppose you’re going to quibble over at the most twelve hundred dollars now. You understand what I meant about the game room itself. That could be done for a great deal less, and still can, but if you want it to be in keeping with the rest of the house my best advice is, don’t try to save on the little things. I was one of the first architects to go in for game rooms, that is to recognize them as an important feature of the modern home. Up to that time a game room—well, I suppose you’ve seen enough of them to know what most of them were like. Extra space in the cellar, so they