A Stone for Danny Fisher (1952) by Harold Robbins

nobody around. Sometimes I would lose my count and inhale when I should exhale and I’d get a noseful of water. Then I’d come up sputtering and choking and feeling like a fool.
    I settled into the stroke, counting grimly. I had been swimming for about fifteen minutes when I heard a man’s voice calling me. Startled, I lost my count and got a mouthful of water. I looked up angrily.
    It was one of the bellhops. “There’s a dame down at the desk lookin’ for your boss.”
    I swam over to the side of the pool and looked up at him. “Youknow he ain’t here,” I said heatedly, “so why bother me? Tell her to blow.”
    “I tol’ her,” the bellhop said quickly, “’nen she asked for you.”
    Who could be asking for me? “She say who she is?” I asked.
    The bellhop shrugged his shoulders. “How’n hell would I know? I didn’t ask. I was too busy lookin’ at this babe. I’d see ’er ’f I were you. She’s really got it.” He rolled his eyes expressively and smacked his lips.
    I grinned and climbed out of the pool. The water ran down off me and formed small puddles around my feet. I reached for a towel and began to dry myself. “What are you waitin’ for, then?” I asked. “Send her up here.”
    As I finished drying myself and sat down on a bench to slip into my sandals, a shadow fell across my feet. I looked up.
    “Hello, Danny.” Miss Schindler was standing there smiling at me.
    I jumped to my feet, suddenly self-conscious. With surprise, I realized I was a good head taller than she was. “Muh—Miss Schindler ,” I stammered.
    She looked up into my face, still smiling. “You’ve grown, Danny. I wouldn’t have recognized you.”
    I stared down at her. It was funny how she made me think of home. It was almost like another world up here. Suddenly I remembered that I had to answer Mamma’s letter. It had been lying on the table back in the bungalow for almost a week.

Chapter Eight
    “ S AM isn’t here right now,” I replied in answer to her question. “He’s checking the other concessions. He’ll be back to-night.”
    A curious look of relief came over her face. “I was just in the neighbourhood,” she said quickly, “and I thought I’d drop by.” She stood there awkwardly in the bright sunlight and squinted up into my face.
    I kept it blank and unknowing. Close neighbourhood. Ninety miles from the city. “Sure,” I said. I had an idea. “Where are you staying? I can have him call you when he gets back.”
    “Oh, no. He can’t do that!” she answered. Too quickly, I thought. Her husband must be around somewhere; she wouldn’t want him toknow. She must have guessed what was going through my mind. “You see, I’m travelling around and I don’t know where I’ll be stopping tonight.”
    “How about here?” I suggested brightly. “It’s a nice place and I can get you a discount.”
    She shook her head.
    “Sam will feel bad if I tell him you left without waiting,” I said.
    Her eyes were shrewd as she looked at me. “No,” she said definitely. “I’d better not.”
    I was disappointed. Suddenly I realized that I wanted her to stay. In a way she was a touch of home and I was glad to see her. The telephone in the bungalow began to ring. I grabbed my towel and started to run toward it.
    “Wait a minute,” I called back over my shoulder. “That’s probably Sam calling. I’ll tell him you’re here.”
    I pushed open the door and grabbed at the phone. “Hello. Sam?”
    “Yeah.” His voice was husky through the receiver. “How’s it goin’?”
    “Okay, Sam,” I answered. Excitement crept into my voice. “Miss Schindler’s up here to see you.”
    Sam’s voice grew huskier. “What’s she doin’ up there?”
    “She said she was just passing through an’ she thought she’d drop in an’ see you.”
    “Tell her I can’t get back till late tonight,” he said quickly. “Get her a good room an’ keep her there till I get back.”
    “But, Sam,” I protested,