He sneered experimentally. "I guess so." He yawned, and that did hurt;
but not too much. "I thought maybe it was a broken bone, but it just
hurts on the skin now. I'll live." He was feeling pretty cheerful. The
disappointing parts of his Rout of the Drunken Beast were dropping out
of his recollection. He said, "Did you get the car, Mrs. G.?"
"Of course," she said, surprised. "Why not? Things have quieted down.
They have time for a reasonable request from an important local
business proprietor." He looked at her sharply, but there was no
expression on her face. For the first time it occurred to Dick McCue
that here was a woman, not so very smart, not so very young, capable of
being wrong, capable of having foolish hopes. She thought she was still
an important local business proprietor. A ramshackle summer hotel. They
folded by the hundreds, year after year; it didn't take a flood to put
them out of business. The flood was only the mercy bullet through the
blindfold, after the man was down.
Polly was awake. She said, "Mrs. Goudeket, it's nice of you to offer to
take us in, but--"
"But?" repeated Mrs. Goudeket. "What but?"