Henderson Daily Dispatch

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

MEANWHILE Bill Potter was having his troubles. That Alicia Carter woman! Getting her to make up her mind was like nothing else on top side of the earth. Confound the luck anyway! First she wanted to do this. And then she wanted to do that. One day it was one thing, and the next day it was something else. She was wearing him down, no doubt about it. Time flying. Workmen wanting to buy homes of their own, and Alicia Carter seesawing back and forth, never quite sure what she ought to do, and always hesitating about taking the advice she kept asking for. Darn women anyway! They were enough to drive a man to his grave long before his time.

Thoughts such as those were churning through his mind now as he drove over to Elmwood. He hadn't told Susan that he was going. He knew she would say something catty, and something catty was certainly something he didn't want to hear. He was beginning to think that Susan's judgment of Alicia had been correct, but darned if he'd give her the satisfaction of telling her so. He hated scenes; and here of late he and Susan had gone through several, scenes he had never thought he would share with Susan, of all people.

So he had gone home to supper a little earlier, telling Susan he had done so because he knew she wanted to get away for the rehearsal. She had looked at him as though she knew perfectly well he was lying, and said, "How sweet of you, Bill." Then the moment supper was over, he had gone back to his office, presumably to work late, but actually to get his car, which was parked out back of the building.

Alicia had telephoned him that afternoon, urging him to come over that evening if he possibly could, as something important had come up which she simply had to discuss with him. He had tried to get out of it, but she had finally gotten her own way by declaring that she was quite sure she had at last decided on what property to sell and what to keep.

"I can't talk to you about it over the telephone," she said.

"Then can't you come to my office tomorrow?" he had asked.

"No, Bill. I can't possibly manage it," she replied. "I've got two long fittings with my dressmaker, and a cocktail party to attend. Besides, it's so much easier to talk business here at my place than at your office—so few interruptions, I mean."

"Okay. I'll be over," he had finally said. "I'll drive over right after supper."

"Why not come straight from the office?" Alicia had suggested. "I'll give you something to eat."

"Thanks, but I do have a wife, you know, Alicia," he said. "And when she plans a meal she likes me to eat it."

"Very well, come later. But not too late."

And presently Bill was finding out just why Alicia had said "not too late." She had two other people at the house, and she wanted him to make a fourth at bridge. Bill Potter thought, "Gosh, that's Adam North's job, being a fourth at bridge, a fourteenth at dinner, not mine!" Then he got a little angry. Alicia had tricked him, that was it.

He followed her into the house after being introduced to the man and woman on the front porch, since they were all sitting there because of the mildness of the evening.

"Look here, Alicia," he said, "I'm a busy man. I can't spare the time to run for miles to play bridge. I thought it was business you wanted to talk."

"It is," said Alicia. She laid a hand upon his arm. "Don't be angry, Bill, dear—please. That man out there has been trying to sell me some bonds and things, and now that he hears I may sell some of this old Carter property, he's keener than ever for me to invest."

"So what?" said Bill. "What's that to me?"

"I want you to hear him talk, and then advise me what to do with the money."

"But you haven't even sold the property as yet," said Bill. "Which reminds me, Alicia, what you've got to make up your mind—and right now."

"I don't like to be rushed," said Alicia.

"Good Lord, nobody's rushing you! You've been trying to decide for weeks."

"I know, Bill, but I do so want to do the right thing. I've made so many mistakes during my poor little life." Alicia sighed. "I want to be sure for once that I'll have no regrets."

Bill watched her mix drinks, and thought of the men she had married. He wondered if they were the mistakes she had made. And as for the "poor little life" part of it, he didn't agree with her. Alicia Carter had done pretty well by herself, if anyone should come up and ask him. And as he saw the way she looked at him now and then, with something like invitation in her eyes, he decided that Susan had been right about her. Alicia liked men—and she wanted attention. She was doubtless enjoying keeping him at her beck and call. Well, one thing certain, she wasn't going to go on like that much longer.

"You carry these out, won't you, Bill?" she said, placing four tall glasses upon a tray. "Mr. and Mrs. Royster have never had mint juleps and they're all excited about having their first ones."

Bill took the tray. "Before we join them, Alicia," he said, "I want you to know that unless you make up your mind about this property within 36 hours, the deal's off."

"Why, Bill!" Alicia gasped. "That's not even two days."

"I know it isn't," said Bill. "But don't forget I want to sell homes to workmen while they are able to pay for them—while they need them. Not a year from now or three years from now."

Alicia looked hurt. Then she pouted.

"All right, you old slave driver, you!" she said.

Bill played bridge very badly, and what was worse, he lost a considerable sum. And he was in no condition to lose money, at bridge or any other way. Then, too, the man Royster struck him as being a blowhard. His wife wasn't much better, as she bragged about their home near Baltimore. They talked when Bill tried to concentrate on his bridge, and glared when they were playing a hand and he said anything. Altogether it was a decided flop of an evening. And as the minutes dragged, Bill began to loathe Alicia Carter. She was something of a pain in the neck, so far as he was concerned. And the moment she signed on the dotted line he was going to leap right out of her life.

Presently, when he was dummy and Alicia was playing the hand, he let his thoughts revert to Susan and to Adam North. He scowled as he visualized Susan in Adam's arms—back in Linville. Of course it was on a stage and it was a play, but Adam North looked too pleased when holding Susan close to him. Maybe Adam wasn't the perfectly safe young man he and other Linville husbands had been picturing him. Maybe he was a wolf in Galahad clothing. Still waters running deep, as the saying goes. Quiet men being devils at heart. All that sort of thing. He'd ring when that play business was at an end. It was bad enough having Susan hanging around Adam North's cafeteria, without having her hanging around his neck at rehearsals. Just let him find out that Adam North was getting familiar with Susan around the factory—and, boy, there'd be something for Linville to talk about! Adam North would look swell with a couple of shiners, and he, Bill Potter, was certainly the man to hand them out.

The more he thought about the matter, the madder he got, and the worse he played.

He began looking at his watch, wondering if he could possibly get home from Elmwood before Susan got home from rehearsal. He was afraid not, unless Mrs. Platt kept them longer at the high school than she had been doing. It was then that he began praying that the rehearsal would last until far in the morning hours. He hated the idea of sneaking in like a thief—making such an entrance into his own home—and yet he knew that's just what he would do if Susan got home first. If she was asleep he could manage it. If she wasn't he would probably end up by telling a fantastic story about working late at the office.

And it was all Alicia Carter's fault.