Miss Shumway Waves A Wand

“Well, a lot can happen in five minutes,” I said. “Maybe he was in a hurry. Who was he anyway?”

But the officer had lost interest in me and went over to the thin, elderly Mexican. I shoved Myra into the car and got in myself. I wanted to put a lot of space between me and likely trouble.

Myra had got her breath back. “Why didn’t you tell him?” she demanded. “You’re riot scared of him, are you?”

“It’s not a matter of being scared,” I said starting the engine and throwing in the clutch.

“I’ve been around in this country long enough never to interfere with anyone. It’s paid me pretty well up to now, and I’m seeing that it continues to do so.”

I sent the car snarling towards Orizaba.

Myra began to laugh. “Did you see that fat boy’s face when I did the snake trick?”

“I did,” I said grimly. “And I heard what he said about the hornet.”

“So what? You don’t think that means anything, do you?”

“I know it does,” I replied. “A guy like that would do just that little thing and think nothing of it. The next time we meet, I’m going to shoot him first and apologize after.”

The idea seemed to shock her and we went back to the hotel without saying another word. Bogle was sitting on the verandah drinking beer and he waved to us as we came up the steps. “Where’ve you been?” he asked, putting his mug on the table and getting up. “Doc’s worried sick. He thought you’d walked out on him.”

Myra said, “Hello, Samuel. You ought to keep in the shade. The light’s a little too hard on you.”

Bogle watched her disappear into the hotel He scowled at me. “One of these days she’ll shoot her mouth off once too often,” he said darkly. “Don’t that prove you can’t be too careful in picking a blonde? I knew a dame once with hair just like hers. Got the nicest mouth I’ve ever listened to. You oughta hear the drippy names she used to call me. You’d’ve been surprised.”

It surprised me that Bogle had a sentimental streak in his make-up, but I didn’t tell him so.

“Your love life bores me,” I said, grinning at him. “Never mind about the drippy names. They won’t get you any place. Where’s Doc?”

Bogle sniffed. “Oh, he’s feeding his face. I didn’t feel hungry, but maybe I’d better do something about it now.”

“Come and feed with me,” I said. “No sense in eating alone”

Bogle brooded darkly. “I’d rather eat alone than with that blonde wise guy,” he said at last.

“I’ll wait. When I sit down to a meal I like to enjoy myself.”

“If that’s how you feel,” I returned and moved towards the lounge.

Just then a kid came quietly up the verandah steps. He was a little Indian boy, very dirty, wearing a dirty white shirt and a pair of ragged trousers. He carried a small wooden box In one of his grubby bands and he looked at Bogle with a calculating eye.

Bogle smirked at him. “Hullo, son,” he said. “Coming to have a talk with old Uncle Sam?” The kid stared at him thoughtfully with his head on one side and shuffled his bare feet on the verandah floor.

Bogle looked over at me. “I like kids,” he said simply, exploring his teeth with his finger nail. “This little punk’s all right, ain’t he?”

The kid shuffled a few paces nearer. “Shine, Johnny?” he said, hopefully.

“You don’t have to be scared of me,” Bogle said, leering at him. “Come and tell Uncle Sam all about it.”

The kid didn’t seem full of confidence, but he put his box down and said again, “Shine, Johnny?”

Bogle stared at him. “Wadjer mean… shine?”

“He wants to shine your shoes, you dope,” I said, grinning. “He’s got beyond Uncle Samuel’s bedside chats for kiddies.”

Bogle looked disappointed. “Gee! I thought the kid was lonely.”

“Shine, Johnny?” the kid repeated monotonously.

“He’s got a one-track mind, ain’t he?” Bogle said, then seeing the kid was a bit restless, he waved his hand grandly. “Sure, help yourself, son,” and he stretched forward one of his great feet.

The kid flopped on the floor and began turning up Bogle’s trouser ends.

“Well, I’m hungry,” I said. “I’ll tell ‘em to leave you something.”

“What’ll I give the little punk?” Bogle asked, watching the kid polishing away at his shoe.

“What you like,” I returned. “These kids ain’t particular.”

Another kid in a dirty red shirt came sidling up the steps. He took one look at Bogle and ran over and shoved White Shirt out of the way.

Bogle blinked. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, as Red Shirt began to lay out his shining materials.

“You’ve got competition,” I said, feeling that I might enjoy this. I leaned against the wall and prepared to watch. From past experience I knew what leeches these kids were, once you encouraged them.

Bogle looked quite gratified. “I told you kids liked me,” he said, smirking. “They’ll even fight over me.”

He’d got something because White Shirt recovering from his surprise grabbed Red Shirt by the throat and put on squeeze.

Bogle was quite shocked. He dragged them apart and held them, one in each great fist.

“Hey!” he said. “This ain’t the way to behave. Now, listen, you two…”