ALBACORA 169 



the door, I saw a small man carrying an enormous 

 camera. 



"Mrs. Marron," he began, "I understand you're plan- 

 ning a fishing trip." 



"Trying to plan a trip," I corrected. "What is it?" 



"I'd like to get pictures of you and your husband for 

 the papers." 



"Thanks, we don't want any," I said. I slammed the 

 door and scooted back upstairs, congratulating myself 

 on my own worldliness. Pictures in the papers were 

 fine, but I had run into this racket before. The man 

 comes in, takes one or two pictures, plunges into a sales 

 pitch and before long you are buying photos, the cam- 

 era and even the flash bulbs. As I reached the upper 

 landing, the bell rang again. I was furious, but this 

 time a pleasant-looking woman of about my age had 

 rung. 



"Pardon me, Mrs. Marron, but I'm Miss Freebus," 

 she said. "You met me at the press booth during the 

 motorboat show, don't you remember?" 



"Oh, my goodness, of course I remember you. Miss 

 Freebus." 



"This man," she said, "is my photographer. You 

 know you did say you'd hold still for me to do a story." 



"I'm sorry," I said to the photographer. "Please, 

 both of you, come in." 



The photographer smiled. I imagine he had been run- 

 ning into similar receptions for years. I led them both 



