“Crumweather, the lawyer.”
Bertha Cool leaned across the desk. “Now listen, lover, you don’t want to get back into that law business. You know what would happen. It would be the same thing all over again. You’d build up a good practice, and something you’d do would irritate those long-haired scissor-bills at the bar association, and you’d be out pounding the pavements again looking for work. You have a nice berth here, and there’s a chance to work up. You can make—”
“About a tenth what I could practising law.”
“But there’s a future to it, lover, and you couldn’t leave Bertha. You’ve so got Bertha that she depends on you.”
I heard voices raised in excited comment in the outer office, then quick steps. The door of the private office jerked open, and Esther Clarde stood in the doorway. One of the secretaries was peering over her shoulder, tugging at her arm in a halfhearted way.
I said, “Come on in, Esther.”
Bertha Cool said, “Indeed she won’t come in. That’s a hell of a way to try to crash my office. She’ll go back and sit down and be announced and—”
“Sit right here,” I said, getting up and indicating the client’s chair.
Esther Clarde came in. Bertha Cool said, “I don’t give a damn who she is, Donald. No one’s going to—”
I closed the door in the new secretary’s face, and said, “What is it, Esther?”