“But, darling, you’ve got to have drifts of it, lumps of it, and little piles of it only make you sick and petty.”
It was the first time she’d called me darling and it was the first time she’d made anything approaching a speech on this my favorite subject. I eyed her with new interest. You can say what you want, but really money-hungry people, ravenously money-hungry ones, are a society all to themselves. My plan had been to get enough of her and to leave her in some filling-station rest room between Dallas and Denver. I’d told her I was a salesman, that I sold novelties and notions to drugstores, and that the winter months were slack ones in the trade and I’d taken the roughnecking job on the river to tide me over. It’s a funny thing, but I’ve found that if you tell someone you sell novelties and notions, they think it’s impolite to ask what novelties and notions are. They don’t ask you any more about it. Anyway, until she said there was no such thing as bad money, I was all for dumping her along the way in a day or so. Now I didn’t know for sure, but I still thought I would, because a woman had no place in my plans. Most of them are big mouthed and easily identified. I don’t know why, but you can pick any woman and she doesn’t look as much like other women as a man looks like other men. Maybe it’s the thousand different ways they can do their hair and lips. I don’t know. But this one with the cocoa-covered bosom and the absolutely perfect legs, a blind man could find her on a Friday noon in Rockefeller Plaza.
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