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Authors: George G. Gilman
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down from a rack one of a score or so sheaves of newspapers held together by strips of polished wood fixed with brass screws.
Frost felt the need to explain to Edge: ‘The colonel and John are planning to write a history of Eternity and – ‘
‘My, my, we’re well past the planning stage now, Bradley,’ Benson corrected in a chiding tone. ‘John and I are already in process of actually writing our history.’
Edge took out the makings while the colonel rustled his bundle of papers and Dickens showed a disconcerted grin as he shook his head.
Frost went on without malice, plenty loud enough for the two old timers to hear: ‘The strange thing is, the pair of them only ever need to read up on their subject in the winter months. When they can drink my coffee under my lamps in front of my stove so they can save on their own heating and lighting costs. And they – ‘
‘Oh, do quit pretending to bellyache, Bradley,’ Benson cut in. ‘You know damn well you enjoy the company. And anyway, why aren’t you out doing some work?’
‘I am working.’ He opened a palm to show the coins Edge had given him. ‘Selling advertising.’
‘That’s Beth’s job. You ought to be out and about discovering just what that no account gunfighter is doing back in Eternity.’
‘I already know why Clay Warner’s back in town,’ Frost countered triumphantly. The two men at the table looked up with keen interest and Edge paused with his hand on the door latch.
Obviously eager to score points off Benson in a friendly, long running verbal contest, Frost indulged in some restrained gloating. ‘For a visit with Beth, that’s all. Warner has been promising to come see her for months and she’ll be real pleased he made it at last. On account of it’s her birthday next weekend. Which is hardly the sort of news item that merits a front-page account in the Post Despatch. Wouldn’t you agree, gentlemen?’
Dickens shrugged and returned to the file of newspapers. Benson looked fleetingly agitated, then muttered sourly:
‘If Warner does anyone a kindness – even a favour for a one time lady love – without there being something untoward behind it, I’d guess it’ll be for the first time in his wretched life.’
Dickens nodded his unqualified agreement as feminine heels were heard to click on the sidewalk outside the office. And Edge was in time to swing open the door and tip his 40
hat as the friend of the man Benson and Dickens held in such low regard came in. The tall and slender Beth Flynt was briefly startled then re-kindled a beaming smile that was too radiant to be meant just for Edge, Frost and the old timers. Clearly her joyful expression was a continuing sign of the excitement that had gripped her ever since she saw Warner was aboard the morning train.
‘Good day to everybody,’ she greeted cheerfully and suddenly looked and sounded a lot less than her age as she continued girlishly: ‘Did you see? Did all of you see? Clay’s back in town! I just knew he’d make it here before my birthday on Sunday! Didn’t I say that, Brad?’
‘You surely did, Beth. I’m pleased you’re so happy.’ He became businesslike. ‘Mr Edge here is the gentleman who placed the for sale announcement about the old Sims store. He stopped by this morning to pay for a re-run in next week’s edition.’
Benson had done some histrionic grunting and noisy shuffling of papers during the exchange. While Dickens immersed himself in the back issues of the newspapers as he toyed with his moustache. Neither of them made any pretence at sharing in Frost’s alleged pleasure for the woman’s happiness.
‘I sure hope the Post Despatch can help you to sell Mr Sims’ store, mister.’ She briefly made her smile even brighter for Edge as she pushed through the hinged section of the partition.
He confined his acknowledgement to a second tip of his hat then stepped out of the office into the cold morning air. Where he paused to strike a match
Frost felt the need to explain to Edge: ‘The colonel and John are planning to write a history of Eternity and – ‘
‘My, my, we’re well past the planning stage now, Bradley,’ Benson corrected in a chiding tone. ‘John and I are already in process of actually writing our history.’
Edge took out the makings while the colonel rustled his bundle of papers and Dickens showed a disconcerted grin as he shook his head.
Frost went on without malice, plenty loud enough for the two old timers to hear: ‘The strange thing is, the pair of them only ever need to read up on their subject in the winter months. When they can drink my coffee under my lamps in front of my stove so they can save on their own heating and lighting costs. And they – ‘
‘Oh, do quit pretending to bellyache, Bradley,’ Benson cut in. ‘You know damn well you enjoy the company. And anyway, why aren’t you out doing some work?’
‘I am working.’ He opened a palm to show the coins Edge had given him. ‘Selling advertising.’
‘That’s Beth’s job. You ought to be out and about discovering just what that no account gunfighter is doing back in Eternity.’
‘I already know why Clay Warner’s back in town,’ Frost countered triumphantly. The two men at the table looked up with keen interest and Edge paused with his hand on the door latch.
Obviously eager to score points off Benson in a friendly, long running verbal contest, Frost indulged in some restrained gloating. ‘For a visit with Beth, that’s all. Warner has been promising to come see her for months and she’ll be real pleased he made it at last. On account of it’s her birthday next weekend. Which is hardly the sort of news item that merits a front-page account in the Post Despatch. Wouldn’t you agree, gentlemen?’
Dickens shrugged and returned to the file of newspapers. Benson looked fleetingly agitated, then muttered sourly:
‘If Warner does anyone a kindness – even a favour for a one time lady love – without there being something untoward behind it, I’d guess it’ll be for the first time in his wretched life.’
Dickens nodded his unqualified agreement as feminine heels were heard to click on the sidewalk outside the office. And Edge was in time to swing open the door and tip his 40
hat as the friend of the man Benson and Dickens held in such low regard came in. The tall and slender Beth Flynt was briefly startled then re-kindled a beaming smile that was too radiant to be meant just for Edge, Frost and the old timers. Clearly her joyful expression was a continuing sign of the excitement that had gripped her ever since she saw Warner was aboard the morning train.
‘Good day to everybody,’ she greeted cheerfully and suddenly looked and sounded a lot less than her age as she continued girlishly: ‘Did you see? Did all of you see? Clay’s back in town! I just knew he’d make it here before my birthday on Sunday! Didn’t I say that, Brad?’
‘You surely did, Beth. I’m pleased you’re so happy.’ He became businesslike. ‘Mr Edge here is the gentleman who placed the for sale announcement about the old Sims store. He stopped by this morning to pay for a re-run in next week’s edition.’
Benson had done some histrionic grunting and noisy shuffling of papers during the exchange. While Dickens immersed himself in the back issues of the newspapers as he toyed with his moustache. Neither of them made any pretence at sharing in Frost’s alleged pleasure for the woman’s happiness.
‘I sure hope the Post Despatch can help you to sell Mr Sims’ store, mister.’ She briefly made her smile even brighter for Edge as she pushed through the hinged section of the partition.
He confined his acknowledgement to a second tip of his hat then stepped out of the office into the cold morning air. Where he paused to strike a match
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