‘‘Hi, chum,” says Cotton to the back as we come up to the car, “are you making like an ostrich, or hiding your head in shame for talking that way in the presence of a lady?” She also knows automobiles of ancient lineage, having owned a long succession of disreputable heaps, which she takes apart and reassembles with loving care. ![]() “My, my,” whispers Cotton admiringly, ‘‘is that a mule or a motor he’s addressing?”Ĭotton Langley-her full name is Louise Mae Langley, but everyone calls her Cotton because of her close-cropped platinum curls is far from a green hand herself with the adjectival improvisations, that being one of the skills quickly acquired around a golf course. ![]() We judge there is a head connected with this somewhere, for we can hear a voice, and this voice is currently employed in running through an exceptionally competent and varied vocabulary. The engine hood is up, and from it protrudes an assortment of angular elbows and long legs. Trouble was, she just couldn’t make the big dope see itĬOTTON LANGLEY and I are walking up the long private driveway that leads to Cedar Ridge Golf Club when we see this jalopy parked in the middle of the road. ![]() Cotton was as right for Doug as a nine iron for a sand trap.
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