Bertha helped herself to the file, and started looking through the letters. As she examined each letter, Belder, somewhat mollified, made comments. “This is a chap who wants me to go hunting with him. I was out with him a couple of years ago. He had a good time, I didn’t. I did all the cooking and all the dishes... This is a salesman who wants me to get him a job where there’s a chance to really work up. Poor boob doesn’t realize salesmen are a drug on the market, or else he thinks I don’t. It’s a question of getting deliveries now—”
“Who’s this?” Bertha asked, pouncing on a letter in feminine handwriting.
Everett Belder cleared his throat “I didn’t know that was in there.”
“Who is it?”
“I don’t think you’d be interested in that, Mrs. Cool. She really doesn’t have anything to do—”
“Who is it?”
“Her name is Rosslyn.”
“What’s her first name?”
“Mamie.”
“What does she mean starting this letter, ‘Dear Sinbad’?”