If a giggling threesome hadn't been looking his way from a bench across
the slidewalk, he would have ground his teeth. In recent weeks, he had
done what he estimated as an easy three million dollars worth of damage
to Mob Territory industry. And the stupid fools hadn't _noticed_ it!
Repair crews had rebuilt the fallen walls, mechanics had tut-tutted over
the wrecked engines and replaced them, troubleshooters had troubleshot
the scores of severed communications lines and fuel mains.
He had hung around.
"Sam, you see this? Melted through, like with a little thermite bomb.
How in the hell did a thing like that happen?"
"I don't know. I wasn't here. Let's get it fixed kid."
"Okay ... you think we ought to report this to somebody?"
"If you want to. I'll mention it to Larry. But I don't see what he can
do about it. Must've been some kids. You gotta put it down as fair wear
and tear. But boys will be boys."
Remembering, he did grind his teeth. But they were at Columbus Square.
* * * * *
Professor Speiser lived in one of the old plastic brick faculty houses.
Her horsy face, under a curling net, looked out of the annunciator
plate. "Yes? What is it?"
"Professor Speiser, I believe you know my daughter, Miss _Freeman_. She
asked me to look you up while I was in New York. Have I come much too
late?"
"Oh, dear. Why, no. I suppose not. Come in, Mr.--Mr. Freeman."
In her parlor, she faced him apprehensively. When she spoke she rolled
out her sentences like the lecturer she was. "Mr. Freeman--as I suppose
you'd prefer me to call you--you asked a moment ago whether you'd come
too late. I realize that the question was window-dressing, but my answer
is quite serious. You have come too late. I have decided to dissociate
myself from--let us say, from your daughter, Miss Freeman."