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ostensibly to hold the flashlight while he searched through the medical supplies, headed out for his clinic. Bartholomew's battered head needed stitches. It was clearly a concern with the old man as to just how long they could expect the overtaxed adhesive to hold the man's head together. The more Bartholomew moved around, the greater the risk. |
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Gladys Ann, not to be outdone, had a list of chores for Moxie that would have staggered a mere mortal, but the little man, soaked to the bone and managing to look even smaller and wiry than usual, leaped to the task. With Moxie dispatched, the old woman turned out all but one light, the one by the cash register at the back of the bar, checked the temperature in the generator-cooled refrigerator and began mopping up puddles of water. |
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Bartholomew watched her and smiled. The Gull House was creaking and groaning under the onslaught of the storm, sounding like it was ready to give up the ghost and cave in at any moment, and Gladys Ann was mopping. Well, he mused, if it did, and if anybody ever bothered to check, they'd be impressed with the fact that the old place had a clean floor right up to the end. |
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Gladys Ann had placed a small portable radio next to him on the table. That way he could get the bad news in both massive and repeated doses. She had tuned it into a |
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