No Pockets in a Shroud by Horace McCoy

Author:Horace McCoy
Format: epub
Published: 2014-02-05T05:00:00+00:00

... Presently he drove through the great stone arch, the entrance to Weston Park, and then he discovered that he was riding in his car and that this was the section where Lillian lived, his new wife, and he suddenly felt he had been married a long, long time, and he reached for his beard—but knowing there would be no beard. His new wife: well, how do you do, Mrs. Michael Dolan, how do you do! Fawncy meeting you here! And who is that distinguished old fluff-duff over there, who sat at the head of the table. I didn't quite catch his name—oh yes, to be sure; to be sure—the Senator. I remember his constructive service in Washington, his distinguished efforts on behalf of his constituents. Well, bah jove, Senator, you're looking fit Yes, Dolan, Michael Dolan, you remember me, my ancestors came over on the Mayflower, oh yes, indeed, the same Dolans, the old kings of grand old Ireland (only now my crest is a crossed pick and shovel beneath a street car rampant); and how do you like this dreadful weather, Senator, you old crooked son of a bitch—and that's a funny one they tell on you, a very funny one (slapping him on the back), that you paid out fifty thousand dollars in Washington to try to get back your wasted powers (whispering in his ear: I read an advertisement in a magazine that might help you); oh, hello, there, darling, there you are, your father and I were just reminiscing; oh yes, Senator, we'll drive carefully, the streets certainly are slick; it's really dreadful weather, and thank you again for that little house you gave us as a wedding present, it is too, too divoon and the dinner was too, too divoon, and we'll only play a few rubbers of bridge with the Burlington-Whimseys; yes, if I see the Count I certainly shall give him your warmest... good night, good night!!!!!

The Negro butler answered the door-bell.

'Is Miss Lillian home?' Dolan asked.

'Come in, sir. Come in,' the butler said affably, opening the door.

'Are you the boy who let me in this morning?' Dolan asked, stepping inside.

'I certainly am, Mr. Dolan,' the butler said, helping him off with his coat.

'You seem different—'

'Perhaps it's this black coat, sir. This morning I wore a white one—'

'No, it's something else. Something about your personality. You're different—'

'You're different, too, sir,' the Negro said, smiling.

'Oh yes, I realize that. I'm in character now. I've been riding around for an hour or two getting in character... Will you tell Miss Lillian I'm here—'

'She's expecting you, sir. This way—'

Dolan followed him through the drawing-room into the library, stopping at the far side of the library door. The Negro tapped lightly on the door, then stuck his head inside.

'Mr. Dolan is here,' he said, and in a moment he stepped back. 'Go in, Mr. Dolan—'

Dolan went inside, and the door was pulled closed behind him. Dolan looked around curiously. This was a man's den.

'Are you Dolan?' a voice boomed.

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