Free Institute by James M. Cain

men around him that he couldn’t believe his ears at first. He was still gasping when he called me. Said you threatened to put him in jail.”
    “I did no such thing, and he said no such thing.”
    “Well, it was something.”
    “All I did was warn him that his idea was against the law.”
    “Yes, that was it.”
    “I said not one word about jail.”
    “I think that was his little joke. He has an odd sense of humor. But that wasn’t all. Lloyd, you impressed him no end, the way you had done your homework, as he called it. You had things at your fingertips. Also, he says you come by your brains honest. How did your mother get in it?”
    “I mentioned that money liked her.”
    “And he fell for her plenty.”
    “I happened to use an expression of hers and it seemed to catch his ear.”
    “What expression?”
    “ ‘If, as, and when.’ ”
    “Why would that catch his ear?”
    “It’s one bankers use.”
    “Oh! ... Oh! Well, that would catch his ear.”
    “Speaking of ears ... I began to nibble on hers, but she pushed me off.
    “No, please,” she said a little breathlessly. “There’s more.”
    “Say on, pretty creature, say on.”
    “He was suspicious of you before—half-liked you but thought you were much too cheeky to really have any brains. But your saying no to him caught his attention, and suddenly he’s now sold all the way, even on you, as the person who should be in charge. Isn’t that wonderful?”
    “I thought I detected a change in his manner.”
    But I must have seemed withdrawn or hesitant or something short of joyous, because suddenly she pulled away in the dark and asked: “Well, for heaven’s sake, what is it now ?”
    “It doesn’t quite add up.”
    “What doesn’t add up?”
    “In the first place, he knows.”
    “Lloyd, how could he possibly know?”
    “How could he possibly not?”
    “Then, O.K., he knows. But if he’s sold on you even when he knows, what is there to have a long face about?”
    “I told you—it doesn’t add up.” I told her about the hand he had injured, and she jumped up, all excited.
    “But he does chop ice! He never uses cubes.”
    “O.K., but then he switched.”
    “I told you he did. He explained it.”
    “Yeah, but in regard to you —”
    “It’s simple, if you just remember that he loves me—all except in that one, just that one, way. So if he thought you were kind of a phoney and very bad for me, it could account for the first way he felt, even including that hand, if that’s the reason he had, though he told me about it, about jabbing it with the ice pick, I mean—and he wouldn’t have, if it was just something he made up and put the bandage on to pretend. So, at first, he was upset on my account, and then he wasn’t. It could be as simple as that.”
    “Wait a minute. Maybe that makes sense.” I didn’t know whether it did or not, but at least I felt that it could—and anything to please her after her sweet, romantic welcome. I kissed her and pretty soon she kissed back. “I think the roast is done,” she said.
    Is there any greater intimacy than a man frying eggs for his woman or her roasting beef for him? Once more we were there at the kitchen table, she letting me carve, then serving me vegetables, the boiled new potatoes with parsley butter on them and the peas on little glass plates. We gobbled our dinner down, now and then touching cheeks, and I told her how happy I was. But in the still of the night, she whispered: “I almost forgot. He’s bringing Inga back, which, in a way, is the best news of all.”
    “Who’s Inga?”
    “I told you—the Swedish housekeeper we had, who got a cable from Stockholm while I was in the hospital with my miscarriage. He had to pack her off, but now he’s bringing her back.”
    “Why is that good news?”
    “It has to mean he’s getting organized to live alone.”
    “Leaving us a clear track, you mean?”
    She burrowed close, and for some time nothing was said. But I knew she