I never did find out where the plates, coffee cups, and eating utensils came from, but I never cared enough to chase that down. Anyway, Martha made sure that we each had a plate of food and a cup of coffee to haul around as she led me to the tables where the female prospects sat. She introduced me to so many people that day that my head was swimming with names that I promptly forgot by the time we got home.By this time, all of the young women knew my history, at least some of it, and they had seen me around town, so the case of my bad leg did not come into consideration. It was obvious that I could get around without a cane or crutch, even though I did limp a little, but it was a rare man who had not had something happen to a leg, knee, or hip by the time he was 25 that did not show up as at least a trace of a limp. They all knew that I had been a successful stagecoach shotgun guard and that I was now a successful bounty hunter. That proved my bravery, and that was important to these. "I could....I could...just take it off and wait until it dried," Isuggested."And wander around my salon in just your shorts? I don't think so?"Becky seemed to think for a minute and then appeared to have abrainwave. "I know. I've got a spare shirt in the office. Go and see ifthat fits." What?" I protested."It's a blue and white Bengal striped one and it's hanging up on theback of the door." She threw me a towel. "Go and dry yourself off andput it on." Oh, and before you try it on put on this deodorant," she said as shereached into her bag and threw me a pink aerosol can. "I can't have youstinking it out with your boy smells."I reluctantly trudged to the office, fearing the worst about the shirt.When I got there I was pleasantly surprised when I saw the shirt as itjust like one of the blue-and white striped shirts that were worn bycity traders or businessmen. Although it did appear to be a bit on thelong side when I saw it hanging up on the back of the door. I removed myt-shirt, dried.
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