The Frame and the Dame

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Undoubtedly, there is at least one man in the world dumber than Mouldy Greene, but it has never been my bad luck to meet him. Marmaduke Greene, who derived his nickname from his sallow complexion, was the sad sack of my army outfit. In civilian life, I still had the Impulse to kick him every time he bent over, yet his talent for irritating me was tempered by a kind of exasperated fondness I had for the guy.

I had not realized how deep either the exasperation or the fondness was until Mouldy got tagged for a murder rap.

I learned about it at nine o’clock in the morning, which increased my exasperation, for my usual rising hour is noon. I awakened to a gentle shaking, opened one eye, and was confronted by a pleasing hunk of feminine anatomy.

In astonishment, I popped open the other eye and immediately understood why I was being offered a reverse view. I sleep raw, and in the early morning summer heat, I had kicked off the sheet almost completely. With her back to me, the woman was reaching behind herself and shaking my bare shoulder.

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