When the next man came out, the blonde went in. She was in there about five minutes. When she came out, she gave me the nod: “You may go in next, Mr. Lam,” she said.

The men who were ahead of me frowned at her and then at me. They didn’t say anything.

Apparently she didn’t mind their frowns any more than I did.

I opened the door, entered a huge room with several filing cabinets, two comfortable chairs, a table, and a big desk.

I put on my best smile, said, “Mr. Cool, I—” and then stopped, because the person seated behind the desk wasn’t Mister.

She was somewhere in the sixties, with gray hair, twinkling gray eyes, and a benign, grandmotherly expression on her face. She must have weighed over two hundred. She said, “Sit down, Mr. Lam—no, not in that chair. Come over here where I can look at you. There, that’s better. Now, for Christ’s sake, don’t lie to me.”

She swung around in her swivel chair and looked me over. I might have been her favorite grandson coming in for a cookie. “Where do you live?” she asked.

“I haven’t any permanent address,” I said. “Right at present I’m in a rooming house on West Pico.”

“What’s your training?”

“Nothing,” I told her, “that does me any good. I had an education that was supposed to fit me for the appreciation of art, literature, and life. It didn’t have anything to do with making money. I find I can’t appreciate art, literature, or life without money.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Parents living?”

“No.”

“You’re not married?”

“No.”

She said, “You’re just a little shrimp. I don’t s’pose you weigh over a hundred and twenty, do you?”

“A hundred and twenty-seven.”

“Can you fight?”

“No—I do sometimes, but I get licked.”

“This is a man’s job.”

“And I’m a man,” I retorted hotly.

“But you’re too small. People would push you around.”

“When I was in college,” I said, “some of the boys used to try it. They gave it up after a while. I don’t like to be pushed around. There are lots of ways of fighting. I have my way, and I’m good at it.”

“Did you read the ad carefully?”

“I think I did.”

“Did you consider yourself qualified?”

“I have no ties on earth,” I said. “I think I’m fairly courageous. I’m active, and, I hope, intelligent. If I’m not, somebody wasted a lot of money giving me an education.”

“Who?”

“My father.”

“When did he die?”

“Two years ago.”

“What have you been doing since then?”

“Odd jobs.”

Her face didn’t change expression. She smiled at me benignly and said, “You’re a God-awful liar.”

I pushed back my chair.