Conjure Wife by Fritz Leiber Read Free Book Online

half listened to the enthusiastic comments and questions of Bronstein and a couple of others.
    Back at the office he found a note from Harold Gunnison, the Dean of Men. Having the next hour free, he set out across the quadrangle for the Administration Building, Bronstein still tagging along to expound some theory of his own.
    But Norman was wondering why he had let himself go. Admittedly, some of his remarks had been a trifle raw. He had long ago adjusted his classroom behavior to Hempnell standards, without losing intellectual integrity, and this morning’s ill-advised though trivial deviation bothered him.
    Mrs. Carr swept by him without a word, her face slightly averted, cutting him cold. A moment later he guessed a possible explanation. In his abstraction, he had lighted a cigarette. Moreover, Bronstein had followed suit, obviously delighted at faculty infraction of a firmly established Hempnell taboo. The faculty were only supposed to smoke in their dingy clubroom or, on the quiet, in their offices.
    He frowned, but continued to smoke. Evidently the events of the previous night had disturbed his mind more than he had realized. He ground out the butt on the steps of the Administration Building.
    In the doorway to the outer office he collided with the stylishly stout form of Mrs. Gunnison.
    “Lucky I had a good hold on my camera,” she grumbled, as he stopped to recover her bulging handbag. “I’d hate to have to try to replace these lenses.” Then brushing back an untidy wisp of reddish hair from her forehead, “You look worried. How’s Tansy.”
    He answered briefly, sliding past her. Now there was a woman who really ought to be a witch. Expensive clothes worn sloppily; bossy, snobbish, and gruff; good-humored in a beefy fashion, but capable of riding roughshod over anyone else’s desires. The only person in whose presence her husband’s authority seemed quite ridiculous.
    Harold Gunnison cut short a telephone call and motioned Norman to come in and shut the door.
    “Norman,” Gunnison began, scowling, “this is a pretty delicate matter.”
    Norman became attentive. When Harold Gunnison said something was a delicate matter, unlike Thompson, he really meant it. He and Norman played squash together and got on pretty well.
    Norman’s only serious objection to Gunnison was the latter’s mutual admiration society with President Pollard, wherein solemn references to Pollard’s political ideas and exaggerations of his friendship with national political figures were traded for occasional orotund commendations of the Dean of Men’s Office.
    But Harold had said, “a delicate matter.” Norman braced himself to hear an account of eccentric, indiscreet, or even criminal behavior on the part of Tansy. That suddenly seemed the obvious explanation.
    “You have a girl from the Student Employment Agency working for you? A Margaret Van Nice?”
    Abruptly Norman realized who had made the second telephone call last night. Covering his shock, he waited a moment and said, “A rather quiet kid. Does mimeographing.” Then, with an involuntary look of enlightenment, “Always talks in a whisper.”
    “Well, a little while ago, she threw an hysterical fit in Mrs. Carr’s office. Claimed that you had seduced her. Mrs. Carr immediately dumped the whole business in my lap.”
    Norman fought the impulse to tell about the phone conversation, contented himself with, “Well?”
    Gunnison frowned and cocked a sad eye at him.
    “I know things like that have happened,” Norman said. “Right here at Hempnell. But not this time.”
    “Of course, Norman.”
    “Sure. There was opportunity though. We worked late several nights over at Morton.”
    Gunnison reached for a folder. “On a chance I got out her neurotic index. She ranks way up near the top. A regular bundle of complexes. We’ll just have to handle it smoothly.”
    “I’ll want to hear her accuse me,” said Norman. “Soon as possible.”
    “Of course. I’ve arranged