UNBORN TOMORROWBetty looked up from her magazine. She said mildly, “You’re late.”
“Don’t yell at me, I feel awful,” Simon told her. He sat down at his desk, passed his tongue over his teeth in distaste, groaned, fumbled in a drawer for the aspirin bottle.
He looked over at Betty and said, almost as though reciting, “What I need is a vacation.”
“What,” Betty said, “are you going to use for money?”
“Providence,” Simon told her whilst fiddling with the aspirin bottle, “will provide.”
“Hm-m-m. But before providing vacations it’d be nice if Providence turned up a missing jewel deal, say. Something where you could deduce that actually the ruby ring had gone down the drain and was caught in the elbow. Something that would net about fifty dollars.”
Simon said, mournful of tone, “Fifty dollar
