“Know ’em?” I asked, wondering why her face had hardened. This kid could look tough when she was in the mood.
“My best friends,” she returned bitterly. “You’ll love them.” The two men came up to the verandah, mounted the steps and stood over us in silent hostility.
Myra said, “Hello. I’ve been wondering what happened to you?”
“I bet you have,” the fat man said between his teeth.
“This is Mr. Ross Millan,” she went on, waving her hand in my direction. “Doc Ansell and Mr. Samuel Bogle. Mr. Bogle’s the gentleman with the dirty face.”
“Sit down and have an egg,” I said, wondering why these two guys looked like a public disaster.
“I don’t want an egg,” Bogle said, stretching his thick fingers ominously.
“Maybe Mr. Bogle would like a drink?” Myra said, smiling.
“We’re going to have more than a drink,” Bogle returned viciously. “We’re collecting for charity—our own charity.”
“He’s got a very forceful personality, hasn’t he?” I said to Myra.