Bertha Cool reached for the correspondence she had placed on her desk. “Good morning.”
She watched her visitors out of the door, then when they’d had time to cross the entrance office to the corridor, Bertha Cool indulged in a sulphurous monologue which, because she lacked an audience, seemed somehow ineffective.
She jerked open the door.
Elsie Brand looked up. “They seemed a little angry when they left,” she said anxiously.
“ They seemed angry,” Bertha all but screamed. “Why, damn their mealy mouthed, two-faced, hypocritical hides! Do you know what those two chiselers wanted? Wanted me to go into court and swear that papers were burning in Everett Belder’s grate when I went in there with Sergeant Sellers Thursday morning — and they wanted to pay me witness fees. W hy — why — the—”
Bertha Cool smothered herself into silence.
Elsie Brand seemed sympathetic but curious. “I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen you at a loss for words, Mrs. Cool.”
“Loss for words,” Bertha yelled at her. “Goddamn it, I’m not at a loss for words! I just can’t decide which ones to use first!”