“Give it to me straight, pal,” she said. “How bad do I look?”
Her companion looked her over with a critical eye and a judicious frown.
“I dunno,” he said at last. “It’s pretty hard for me to tell. If those freckles was covered up, maybe I could see your face.” As he spoke he edged away, as if ready to spring from the porch when she attacked him.
Instead, she sighed. The other started and looked at her with a new interest.
“How old are you?” he asked sharply.
“Three years more than you think.”
“Sixteen?”
“And three makes nineteen. You’re right the first time. How’d you do it?”
He took off his hat and extended his hand.
“My name is Bill Carrigan,” he said.