Paper Doll

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LOUDON TRIPP, WEARING a seersucker suit and a Harvard tie, sat in my office on a very nice day in September and told me he’d looked into my background and might hire me.

“Oh boy,” I said.

“You’ve had some college,” Tripp said. He was maybe fifty, a tall angular man with a red face. He held a typewritten sheet of paper in his hand, reading it through half glasses.

“No harm to it,” I said. “I thought I was going to do something else.”

“I went to Harvard. You played football in college.”

I nodded. He didn’t care if I nodded or not. But I liked to.

“You were a prizefighter.”

Nod.

“You fought in Korea. Were you an officer?”

“No.”

“Too bad. After that you were a policeman.” Nod.

“This presents a small problem; you were dismissed. Could you comment, please, on that.”

“I am trustworthy, loyal, and helpful. But I struggle with obedient.”

Tripp smiled faintly, “I’m not looking for a boy scout,” he said.

“Next best thing,” I said.

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