In the living room, Bogle was setting the table “All ready, Bud,” he said to me. “Pried ham and eggs, whaddayssay?”
“Sounds fine,” I said. “Isn’t Myra coming down?”
“Naw,” Sam said, going into the kitchen. “A dame like that likes to lay around in bed. Besides, it takes her half the morning to get up. I like to get breakfast over with.”
When he had gone, I said to Ansell, “Old Sam’s getting like a gawdamn housewife. Do you think he’s going soft or something?”
Ansell shook his head absently. “He always wanted to have a place of his own,” he said.
“Many a time, in the desert, he’d talk about setting up home. Funny thing, isn’t it? Yet he’s mixed with the toughest thugs of Chicago. And now look at him, running around, keeping the house clean, cooking and waiting on Myra.”
Just then Sam came in with a tray and put the food on the table. He then shot back into the kitchen, came out again with a smaller tiny and carried it off to Myra’s room.
“Kelly,” I said, with my mouth full. “That’s an idea, Doc. I wonder if we can get a line on him.”
“Maybe your paper would know,” Ansell returned, pouring out the coffee. “Anyone there you can ask?”
I thought for a moment, “Yeah, Dowdy’s the guy. He’s sort of secretary to Maddox. He ought to know something.”