Read Online The Girl Who Kept Knocking Them Dead by Hampton Stone - Free Book Online
Authors: Hampton Stone
Ads: Link
of thing Grandma wore in the nineties, it was quite the sort of thing that Grandma might pick out as a decent sort of suit for Granddaughter to wear today. Legs it showed about to the knees. Arms it showed completely. Neck and shoulders it showed a lot less than your stenographer is likely to show at her typewriter any day.
All the same it was a cute suit and a cute girl inside it. The legs were very nice indeed and the figure plenty good enough so you knew that it wasn’t for any cosmetic reasons that she wasn’t showing more of it. I couldn’t tell about hair because there was a bathing cap but the face was nice. Beach pictures being what they are, you couldn’t see too much, but I had the idea that Joan Loomis was by no means the lovely thing that Sydney Bell had been but that she would be quite pretty enough in a wholesome, country-girl fashion.
In the description department Bannerman did all right. Height five foot five. Weight 130 pounds. Light brown hair. Fair complexion. Blue eyes. He said her hair was long and she wore it up in one of these knobs at the back of her head. When it came to what she might be wearing he couldn’t give us nearly so much. He knew what she had been wearing when he had seen her off to New York. It was a dark gray suit and a pink blouse with a little round white collar that came outside over the collar of her coat.
“She was buying clothes here,” he said. “I don’t know whether she’ll be wearing something she brought from home or something she’s bought. Anyhow it’s likely to have one of those little round white collars she wears outside. She likes those. She wears them on mostly everything.”
I thought I knew what he meant and I thought it sounded something like a school uniform.
“How old is she?” Gibby asked.
It’s a routine question. I didn’t know whether the school-girlish note had struck him or not.
“Twenty-one,” Bannerman answered. “Just a year younger than Ellie.”
Gibby called the description in. Missing persons could start routine on it in any case. He didn’t relax, though. He came right back at the questioning. I have never known a session of this sort to have more of an appearance of going well. Bannerman seemed to be in a mild state of shock, as well he might have been; but, if anything, that appeared to have loosened him up a bit, released some inhibitions he might otherwise have exhibited.
Gibby suggested that we might go out and get him a drink and he was a little prim about that.
“No, thanks,” he said. “I don’t drink.”
The real impact of it was in the tone he used. That tone didn’t leave anything unsaid. Here was a boy who had convictions on the subject. He was horrified by the suggestion that he might even have wanted a drink but it was a situation he had faced up to before he had made the journey into the big city. He had known the sort of place New York was. He had known that people did drink there. He had made up his mind, however, to stick to his guns. No when-in-Rome-do-as-the-Romans-do for him, but he would be polite about it. He would say nothing. He would just be firm in his refusal.
It was all there. I could even guess where he had learned it. That would have come in the army. He would be out on pass with his buddies. The other boys would be tying one on or at least stopping for a couple of beers. I could just see this one going around to the USO for a coke.
Gibby acted as though he had missed the “I don’t drink” part of it and caught nothing of the tone which made it so clear that in this young man’s way of thinking nobody else should drink either.
“There’s nothing up here,” Gibby said, “but we don’t have to stay right here.”
Bannerman gave him an indulgent little sad-eyed smile.
“Of course, there wouldn’t be anything up here,” he said. “This was Ellie’s place.”
Gibby fished his cigarettes out of his pocket and offered Bannerman a smoke.
“Thank you, no,” Bannerman
All the same it was a cute suit and a cute girl inside it. The legs were very nice indeed and the figure plenty good enough so you knew that it wasn’t for any cosmetic reasons that she wasn’t showing more of it. I couldn’t tell about hair because there was a bathing cap but the face was nice. Beach pictures being what they are, you couldn’t see too much, but I had the idea that Joan Loomis was by no means the lovely thing that Sydney Bell had been but that she would be quite pretty enough in a wholesome, country-girl fashion.
In the description department Bannerman did all right. Height five foot five. Weight 130 pounds. Light brown hair. Fair complexion. Blue eyes. He said her hair was long and she wore it up in one of these knobs at the back of her head. When it came to what she might be wearing he couldn’t give us nearly so much. He knew what she had been wearing when he had seen her off to New York. It was a dark gray suit and a pink blouse with a little round white collar that came outside over the collar of her coat.
“She was buying clothes here,” he said. “I don’t know whether she’ll be wearing something she brought from home or something she’s bought. Anyhow it’s likely to have one of those little round white collars she wears outside. She likes those. She wears them on mostly everything.”
I thought I knew what he meant and I thought it sounded something like a school uniform.
“How old is she?” Gibby asked.
It’s a routine question. I didn’t know whether the school-girlish note had struck him or not.
“Twenty-one,” Bannerman answered. “Just a year younger than Ellie.”
Gibby called the description in. Missing persons could start routine on it in any case. He didn’t relax, though. He came right back at the questioning. I have never known a session of this sort to have more of an appearance of going well. Bannerman seemed to be in a mild state of shock, as well he might have been; but, if anything, that appeared to have loosened him up a bit, released some inhibitions he might otherwise have exhibited.
Gibby suggested that we might go out and get him a drink and he was a little prim about that.
“No, thanks,” he said. “I don’t drink.”
The real impact of it was in the tone he used. That tone didn’t leave anything unsaid. Here was a boy who had convictions on the subject. He was horrified by the suggestion that he might even have wanted a drink but it was a situation he had faced up to before he had made the journey into the big city. He had known the sort of place New York was. He had known that people did drink there. He had made up his mind, however, to stick to his guns. No when-in-Rome-do-as-the-Romans-do for him, but he would be polite about it. He would say nothing. He would just be firm in his refusal.
It was all there. I could even guess where he had learned it. That would have come in the army. He would be out on pass with his buddies. The other boys would be tying one on or at least stopping for a couple of beers. I could just see this one going around to the USO for a coke.
Gibby acted as though he had missed the “I don’t drink” part of it and caught nothing of the tone which made it so clear that in this young man’s way of thinking nobody else should drink either.
“There’s nothing up here,” Gibby said, “but we don’t have to stay right here.”
Bannerman gave him an indulgent little sad-eyed smile.
“Of course, there wouldn’t be anything up here,” he said. “This was Ellie’s place.”
Gibby fished his cigarettes out of his pocket and offered Bannerman a smoke.
“Thank you, no,” Bannerman
Similar Books
