close-set eyes and loudly striped suit combined to give him a somewhat disreputable appearance.
“Good grief! Len Unger!” Sandy whispered. “What does he want with us?”
Unger was walking straight toward them. Both Bud and Sandy had met him occasionally around town and found him obnoxious.
“Sorry, but Morris got tied up,” Unger informed them. “He sent me to talk to you.”
Sandy’s blue eyes met Bud’s in a flicker of distaste, but she tried to conceal her feelings. “Please sit down,” she invited Unger politely. “What square-dance numbers does Mr. Morris do?”
Len Unger shrugged. “You name ‘em.”
“But, my goodness,” Sandy said, puzzled, “how do we know he’ll have the squares I name?”
Unger stared at her as if he did not quite understand. “You mean, can he call off the dances you want? If he can’t, I’ll let you know.”
“Does he do patter calls or singing calls?” Bud put in.
Again Unger hesitated, then said, “Both.”
“Wonderful!” Sandy exclaimed gleefully. “I thought he only did singing calls.”
After a moment’s thought, she went on, “Well, let’s see. What about ‘Birdie in the Cage’? … And ‘The Gal from Arkansas’… ‘Uptown and Downtown’ …”
Unger jotted the names on the back of an enA MAGNETIC KIDNAPING 87
velope. Pausing a moment, he remarked, “Guess your brother was too busy to make it today, eh, Miss Swift? What kind of ex-spearmints is he working on now?”
“I really couldn’t say,” Sandy replied coldly. She always made it a point not to discuss Tom Jr.‘s or her father’s research work with outsiders.
linger persisted chattily, “I read where he handled that Jupiter probe shoot for the Navy.”
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