A Swell-Looking Babe Read Online Free Page B

Dusty? Your old man doesn't stand a chance of getting things straightened out?"
    "It wouldn't do much good if he could," Dusty shrugged. "He'll never be well enough to go back to work."
    "A hell of a note," mused Trowbridge. "I remember readin' about it at the time. I said to myself right then, Now, why the hell does a man want to do a thing like that? A man with a good job and a family to take care of. What's he figure it's going to get him to mix himself up with a bunch of Reds?"
    "He didn't mix with any Reds," Dusty said quickly, almost sharply. "I know they tried to make it look that way, but it wasn't anything like that. You see there was this group – the Free Speech Committee – who wanted to hold a meeting in the school auditorium, and all Dad did was sign a petition to-"
    "Sure" – Tug stifled a yawn. "Well, it was a lousy break, anyway. Lousy for you. Of course, it was hard on your old man, too, but he'd already lived most of his life. The way I see it, he stuck his neck out and yours got stepped on."
    "Well…" Dusty murmured. There was a casual bluntness about Trowbridge which precluded argument. For that matter, he didn't entirely disagree with the ex-racketeer.
    Trowbridge got the bag of laundry from the bedroom, and gave him a dollar tip. He.returned to the lobby, heartened by his talk with Tug yet vaguely ashamed of himself. His father hadn't done anything wrong. In any event, it wasn't up to Tug Trowbridge to pass judgment on him. Still, it was nice to have someone see your side of things, to realize that you were making a hell of a sacrifice and getting nothing for it. Everyone else – the doctor and the lawyers and his farther, and his mother, up until the time of her death – had taken what he had done for granted.
    Dusty couldn't remember just how he'd happened to tell Tug about the matter. It had just slipped out somehow, he guessed, a natural consequence of the big man's friendliness and interest. Trowbridge was a far cry from the Manton's average guest. He treated you like a friend, introduced you to the people he had with him. When he said, "How's it going?" or "What's on your mind, Dusty?" he really wanted to know. Or he certainly made it sound like he did.
    Bascom was waiting for him when he got downstairs, frowning and tapping impatiently on the counter. "Finally got back, did you?" he said grimly. "How long does it take you to pick up a bag of laundry?"
    "Not too long." Dusty looked at him coolly. "About as long as it takes you to unlock a door."
    Bascom's eyes flashed. He flipped a slip of paper across the counter. "College boys," he jeered. "There's some calls for you, college boy. See if you can take care of them between now and daylight."
    "Look, Mr. Bascom" – Dusty picked up the call slip. "What's… well, what's wrong, anyway? What are you sore at me about? We used to get along so well together, but every time I turn around now you-"
    "Yes?" said Bascom. "If you don't like it, why don't you quit?"
    "But I don't understand. If I've done or said anything-"
    "Get moving," said Bascom crisply. "Step on it, or you won't get a chance to quit."
    Dusty made the two calls – ice to one room, a telegram pick-up from another. This was another thing he couldn't remember: just how his quarreling with Bascom had started. It had begun only recently, he knew that. They'd gotten along swell for months, and then, apparently for no reason at all, Bascom had changed. And since then he could do nothing but scold and snarl and ridicule. Make things tougher than they were already.
    Dusty had been pretty hurt at first. He still was. But the hurt was giving way to anger, a stubborn determination to stand up against the clerk's injustice. He didn't know what it was all about – and he was ceasing to care – but he knew that Bascom couldn't get him fired. Not, anyway, without digging up much more serious charges than he could make now. Dusty had broken various of the hotel's innumerable rules, as in the