“On him a crown looks good,” I remarked.
“It doesn’t chafe him,” Wolfe agreed, and went back to his book.
After a while it began to irritate me to see the toes of the yellow socks sticking up with holes started, so I tossed the magazines on a table, wandered out of the room, on downstairs, and outdoors. Sounds came from the direction of the swimming pool, and I went that way. The wind was no longer even a breeze, the sun was warm and friendly, and for anyone who likes grass and flowers and trees better than sidewalks and buildings it would have been a treat.
Connie Emerson and Madeline were in the pool. Paul Emerson, in a cotton shirt and slacks, not too clean, was standing on the marble at the edge, scowling at this. Gwenn, in a dress dark in color but summery in weight, was in a chair under an umbrella, her head leaning back and her eyes closed.
Madeline interrupted an expert crawl to call to me, “Come on in!”
“No trunks!” I called back.
Gwenn, hearing, swiveled her head to give me a long straight look, had nothing to say, turned her head back as before, and shut her eyes.
“You not getting wet?” I asked Emerson.
“I got cramps Saturday,” he said in an irritated tone, as if I should have had sense enough to know that. “How does it stand now?”
“What? The cramp situation?”