“I’ll bite,” Bertha said. “What’s the gag?”
“No gag. I always know what time it is on the hour. There’s a clock that chimes the hours.”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“She’d walk past me anywhere from five minutes of nine to about three minutes of nine. When she walked by about three minutes of nine, she’d be walking fast. At five minutes of nine, she’d be walking more slowly. The jobs that start at nine o’clock are the better class of jobs. Most stenographic jobs in the district start at eight-thirty. I can tell about how old she is from her voice; how tall she is from the length of her steps; and what she weighs from the sound of her feet on the sidewalk. You’d be surprised at what your ears will tell you when you really learn to rely on them.”
Bertha Cool thought that over for a moment, then said, “Yes, I guess so.”
“When you go blind,” Kosling explained, “you either feel that you’re shut away from the world, can’t take part in life, and lose interest in it; or you keep an interest in life, and decide you’re going to get along with what you have, and make the best of it. You’ve probably noticed that people know a lot about the things they’re interested in.”
Bertha Cool detoured the opportunity to discuss philosophy and brought the subject back to dollars and cents. “Why do you want me to find this girl? Why can’t you find her yourself?”
“She was hurt in an automobile accident at the street intersection. It was about a quarter to six in the evening, last Friday. She’d been working late at the office, I think, and was hurrying as she walked past me. Perhaps she had a date and was in a hurry to get home and get her clothes changed. I don’t think she’d taken over two steps off the curb when I heard the scream of tyres, a thud, and then the girl cried out in pain. I heard people running. A man’s voice asked her if she was hurt, and she laughed and said no; but she was badly scared and shaken up. He insisted that she go to a hospital for a check-up. She refused. Finally she said she’d let him give her a lift. When she was getting in the car, she said her head hurt and that perhaps it would be well to be examined by a doctor. She didn’t come back Saturday, and she wasn’t back Monday. This is Tuesday, and she isn’t back today. I want you to find her.”
“What’s your interest in her?” Bertha asked.
The blind man’s smile was benign. “You may put it down as a charitable impulse,” he said. “I make my living out of charity, and — well, perhaps this girl needs help.”