“Says you put an ad in the paper.”
“About what?”
“Automobile accident.”
“So what?” Bertha asked.
“He wants to collect two dollars.”
Bertha Cool’s eyes glittered. “Show him in.”
The man whom Elsie Brand escorted into Bertha Cool’s private office seemed to be trying to get through life by expending the least possible effort. He had a semi-pretzel posture as though neck, shoulders, hips, and legs all seemed afraid they would support more than their fair share of the weight, and even the cigarette which he held in his mouth drooped nonchalantly, bobbing up and down when he talked.
“Hello,” he said. “This the place that wanted information about the automobile accident?”
Bertha Cool beamed at him. “That’s right,” she said. “Won’t you sit down? Have that chair — no, not that one, it’s not so comfortable. Take this one over by the window. That’s it; it’s cooler there. What’s your name?”
The man grinned at her.