“Well—”
Mason said, “We’ll have to telephone Gertie. Be kind of nice to cover up with warm sand and doze off to sleep, then plunge in the salt water.”
“Uh huh. Ham and eggs and coffee would be nice, too.”
“Stack of buckwheats on the side?” Mason asked.
“No. That’s too heavy. I have to watch my figure, you know.”
Mason grinned. “Not when you’re on a beach in a bathing suit, you don’t, baby. Plenty of other people are doing that for you.”
She smiled across at him. “You’re awfully nice,” she said. “It wouldn’t be so bad getting scared to death in murder cases if there were only longer interludes in between. Will we take a spin in the speedboat?”
“Will we go out in the speedboat!” Mason echoed. “Well, I hope to tell you! After we’ve had a little sleep, we’ll charter a speedboat and tear the ocean wide open. Speed, in case you haven’t noticed it, is our middle name.”
By way of illustration, Mason’s foot pressed down on the foot throttle until the speedometer needle went quivering up into the high figures.
Della Street smiled, said, “Yes, I’d noticed,” and then, adjusting the mirror on the sunshield of the car so she could apply powder to her nose, she added evenly, “And in case you’re interested, there’s a gentleman behind you on a motorcycle who seems also to have observed that trait in your character.”