The Ninth Wave Read Online Free

mirror.

"Mike, don't lie on the bed naked," Miss Bell said from the bathroom

door. She was wearing a loose silk wrapper. "And you shouldn't smoke

cigars. You're too young."

"I like cigars," Mike said, without taking the cigar from his mouth. "If

I'm old enough to do this," and his hand circled and took in the room and

Miss Bell, "I'm old enough to smoke."

Miss Bell flushed and she walked over and sat on the edge of the bed.

Without her glasses on, her eyes looked soft and unfocused. She had an

attractive face, although her figure was starting to soften. Her breasts

were still large and firm, but her hips bulged the kimono slightly. Her

fingers were fattening and a ring almost disappeared on her left hand.

She eats too much, Mike thought. He remembered the countless hamburgers

and Mile-Hi cones and malted milks they had eaten together. She always ate

with a breathless laugh, repeating that she shouldn't, but always ordering

a hamburger or an extra little-paper bag of french-fried potatoes.

"What are you going to do in the fall?" Miss Bell asked. "Have you made

up your mind?"

"No."

"Why don't you go to college, Mike? You're a good student."

"But why go to college?. What good will it do me?"

"It will broaden your horizons, it will . . . " She saw the look on his

face, faltered a moment and went on. "It will help you to get a good

job when you get out of college."

"Did it broaden your horizons?" Mike asked. "Your dad went to college. Did

it broaden his horizons? He still got cleaned out on that Belgian hare

proposition."

"I never should have told you about the Belgian hare business," Miss

Bell said. "That doesn't mean a thing. Today you can't get a decent

job unless you have a college education."

She had told Mike about the Belgian hares several weeks before. During

the late 1920's, all of Southern California had been swept by an

excitement over Belgian hares and newspapers carried advertisements of

prize bucks and does. It was alleged that the skins of the hares would

sell for fabulous sums and thousands of the hares were bred all over

the state. Brochures were circulated which stated that the pelts would

be made into exquisite fur coats and much was made of the fine sheen and

long hair of the hares. Miss Bell's father had resisted for months, but

finally a man he knew made $2500 with the hares and Mr. Bell purchased

a matched buck and doe for $1750. They were beautiful creatures, with

huge soft eyes and moist noses and he carefully nourished them in his

bedroom. But a month later the excitement died, the brochures disappeared,

there were a few stories in the papers and Mr. Bell sold the hares to

a poultry store for seventy-five cents.

"I can get a good job without going to college," Mike said.

"Doing what?" Miss Bell said.

"In the studios, they pay big money there," he said tentatively. "Or

working out at the aircraft factories."

"Oh, Mike, that isn't big money, those aren't big jobs," Miss Bell

said. "Those are the little jobs. Law, medicine, business executives;

those are the big jobs. You can't get one of those jobs without going

to college."

"You can make money without going to college," Mike said. "I know that."

He puffed on the cigar, felt a drop of brown bitter juice gather in the

corner of his mouth, but let it stay there. "You can make money lots

of other ways without having a college degree. Did Henry Ford go to

college? Or Jim Farley? Or Charles Lindbergh?"

"There are exceptions, Mike," Miss Bell said. "I admit that. But they're

flukes. Most of the big jobs go today to men who have a college training.

Certainly most of the famous men in the United States have gone to college.

I can prove that"

"How?" Mike said. He took the cigar out of his mouth and looked over

at her.

She put on her glasses. Her eyes came sharply into focus; her face looked

thinner. She walked over to the bureau and opened the little night case

she had brought to the Western Motel. She