“Since you’re so God-damn smart, my client is a blind man, a blind beggar who sits down on the corner and sells pencils and neckties. He’s got to the age where he’s sentimental, and this little wren stopped and passed the time of day with him, gave him a pat on the back and cheered him up. He’s worried about her because she didn’t come to work Monday, and she didn’t come to work Tuesday. He asked me to try and locate her for him; and because he’s just a sweet old codger, Bertha falls for his song and takes on the job at about the quarter the price I’d charge a regular client.
“I was going to try and give you a break. If you’d given me the information I wanted, I was going to steer things around so that if a lawyer picked it up, you could cash in. Now, you’re so damned smart, you just go ahead and find your own lawyer.”
The man in the chair had ceased laughing. He wasn’t even smiling. He looked at Bertha Cool with a puzzled, half-dazed expression in which there was some anger, some surprise.
“Go on,” Bertha said. “Get the hell out of here before I throw you out.”
She started marching around the desk.
“Now, wait a minute, lady. I—”
“Out!” Bertha shouted.
The man jumped up out of the chair as though he had been sitting on a cushion of pins. “Now, wait a minute, lady. Maybe you and me can really do business.”
“Not by a damn sight,” Bertha said, “I’m not going to soil my hands playing around with a cheap, two-bit, penny-ante, race-track tout. You’re so damn smart, go find yourself the lawyer that wants your information.”
“Well, perhaps—”