* * * * *
I peeled off my wet shirt and threw it across the corner of my desk,
casting a reproving eye at the pastel air-conditioner in the window. It
wasn't really the machine's fault--The water department reported the
reservoir too low to run water-cooled systems. It would be a day or two
before I could get the gas type into my office.
Miss Brown, my secretary, was getting a good look at my pale, bony
chest. Well, for the salary she got, she could stand to look. Of
course, she herself was wearing a modest one-strap sun dress, not
shorts and halters like some of the girls.
"My," she observed "it certainly is humid for March, isn't it,
Professor Venetti?"