“It wouldn’t do any good,” Elsie Brand said. “He says in his card that you can’t see him, but he can get mail.”
The angle of Bertha Cool’s jaw showed sudden irrevocable decision. “All right then,” she said. “I’m going to write to the little shrimp. Brainy little bastard! He’ll know what to do. Suppose he’ll be snooty about it. He’s got to tell me what to do. Bring your notebook, Elsie. I’m going to write Donald Lam every single thing that’s happened.”
Bertha Cool led the way into the inner office. She seated herself in the swivel chair and said to Elsie Brand, “This letter goes air mail, special delivery. Put rush on the envelope, urgent, personal, and very private.”
Elsie Brand’s pencil moved over the paper.
“We’ll start it this way,” Bertha said. ”‘Dear Donald: It was so good to hear from you, and I miss you so much. Bertha is trying to carry on the business the best she can so that you’ll have something to come back to when the war is over— Wait a minute, Elsie. I guess I won’t say that.”
Elsie Brand looked up.
“Might give him some legal hold on me,” Bertha Cool said.
“Don’t you want him back in the business?” Elsie asked.
“How the hell do I know?” Bertha said irritably. “The end of the war may be a long way off. You strike that out and write this to him: ‘Donald darling: Since you left Bertha in the lurch, you’ve got to help her get things cleaned up.’ No, that sounds too damn much as though I needed him. Strike that out, Elsie.”
Bertha Cool was thoughtfully silent for a moment.