The Wife Who Needed Spanking

06Dec13

Wife who needed a spankingThis is a racy crime drama that I stumbled upon on Google Reader. It is from the St Paul Pioneer Press Magazine on Sunday 22 October 1933. It is hard to read, but if you click on the picture above you are welcome to try.

And if anyone does want to type it out I would be happy to republish Sam E Smyth’s period gem, but don’t strain your eyes.

Update:

The Wife Who Needed Spanking (as typed by Logicl63)
By Sam E. Smyth

“Wilson, you may tell Hargis I’ll be ready in 10 minutes.”
“Very good, Mrs. Bannister.”
“I’ll take the Mercedes.”
“Very good, Mrs. Bannister.”
“London” Lonnie was feeling his way cautiously along a dark upstairs hallway when this conversation halted him. Suddenly, a cluster of brilliant lights directly over Lonnie’s head switched on.
He shaded the peak of a dark cap over small, humorous eyes and took a swift survey: three open bedrooms on the right; on the left, two closed doors. He opened the nearest door, a large trunk closet, just as the soft tread of feet on heavily carpeted stairs came to him.
“I’ll take the trunk closet, Wilson.” He smiled. “Very good, sir.”
Bobbing into the closet and closing the door quietly, he draped a cauliflower ear over the keyhole. Feet swished past the closet door, and stopped.
Looking through the keyhole, Lonnie saw two exquisitely curved, feminine, red stockinged legs. Stooping, his eyes traveled leisurely up the legs and beyond the knee to a short red skirt, then to a fiery red jacket, and finally Oh! Oh! ’d at a lovely oval face.
Topping this flaming female was a large red hood from under which stray locks of straw-gold peeped out. The lady was in a worried stew about something.
“She’s going as little Red Riding Hood,” mused the man in the closet, his eye dropping helplessly down to her legs again. “Now, if I were the wolf, I’d start on the legs. “Oh, Mrs. Conda Bannister?” He bowed. “I am delighted to meet you. I’ve admired your diamonds.”
“London” Lonnie had been stealing American diamonds and money for so many years, that even his accent was now American.
Mrs. Conda Bannister snapped on a light and disappeared into a bedroom across the hall.
“Little Red Riding Hood’s expression,” frowned Lonnie, “looked like she had already seen the wolf.” He vacuumed the cauliflower ear to the keyhole and dialed it around trying to tune in on what she was doing. She was telephoning. “She’s married. She’s worried. She’s alone. No woman can stand that very long without talking.”
“Hullo,” came from across the hall. “Jeoffrey?… Yes. I was afraid you had left… Listen. Behave tonight. Phillip is inquisitive. … No, nothing definite. I must ask you again for those letters. … Yes, but you’ve lied to me right along. Be a good boy and … Oh, my God, Jeff! You can’t mean that!”
Lonnie caught a sob. She was listening. Jeoffrey had a lot to say. Presently, she broke out with: “So, that’s what you are! I loathe you! Do you hear? Phillip will divorce me! … Jeff! JEFF!”
He had hung up on her. She dropped the receiver on its hook, with: “Oh, oh, I’m in for it!”
Lonnie shook his head. “That’s a shame.” He sighed mockingly “Don’t you know, Conda, that the devil’s horns are in the velvet when the tale is in the silk?” He yawned. “Serves you right, you little fool. Hang on to the letters, Jeff. It’s a good racket.”
Her room was quiet. “Well, it’s your move Conda, but I wish you’d move your pretty legs and get out of there. I’m not a guest, you know.”
Jeoffrey Dayne had recently come over from England. What for, New York didn’t seem to care. The fellow was a well-mixed cocktail: a dash of D’Artagnan, a measure of Monte Cristo, the bouquet of Beau Brummell, a sip of the Devil. Conda and Dayne had found each other a whetstone upon which to sharpen wits.
The grindstone epitomized Phillip and his commercial activities. Conda was just a lovely flower to perfume his home. Phillip was a poor horticulturist… so poor that the lovely flower kept itself fresh and fragrant by feeding on the love and attention others willingly gave.
A door downstairs closed with a bang. The percussion caused the closet door to rattle. Lonnie’s eye found the keyhole. He smiled. Conda’s red legs were framed in the doorway across the hall.
“If that’s Phil,” mused Lonnie, “they’ll probably put on something dramatic.”
Firm steps on the stairs. The red legs disappeared into the bedroom, then soft humming.
“I’ll bet that is an effort.” chuckled Lonnie. Bannister swished down the hall and halted at her bedroom door, where he stood in dour silence.
Lonnie quietly approved Bannister’s six foot one, the Barrymore profile, the resolute jaw. “Money maker. Lets the girlfriend drift. So busy chasing the dame on the dollar that the dame in the home coins her own slogan of liberty.”
Bannister stood silent, motionless, gazing in at Conda. Her soft humming seemed to irritate him.
“Well, Bluebeard,” sighed Lonnie, “make up your mind what to do with Fatima. She must be playing that old game, ‘I didn’t hear you come …’”
“Oh, Phillip,” came from across the hall. “I didn’t hear you come in.” A little laugh of surprise trailed off into the humming again.
“Watch your step, lady,” frowned Lonnie. “The boyfriend knows something!”
“You look charming.” offered Phillip, leaning leisurely against the door.
The humming bird stopped humming. “Hadn’t you better start your Captain Kidd makeup?”
He ignored the advice. “If I remember correctly,” he said, and his tone implied that he did, “Little Red Riding Hood met a wolf, didn’t she?”
The subtlety of the words plunged her into silence.
“Smart crack,” sighed Lonnie. “Now, Lady of the Lovely legs, let’s see you keep the wolf from the door.”
Bannister evidently thought that was enough for her to think about. He turned as if to go down the hall when she spoke.
“I think she did,” Conda laughed, feebly. “I can’t hope to meet a wolf at a masquerade, can I, Phillip?”
He turned back quickly. “Can’t you?” He was quite clear what he meant.
Bannister went into the room. “There’s too much talk.” He blurted, “about you and Dayne.”
She was making a lot of unnecessary noise opening and shutting drawers. “Missed choice scandal, haven’t I?”
“You mean messed,” correct Lonnie.
A person can,” Bannister broke out, “be too close to a thing to…”
“STOP it, will you!” Her voice burst like a crash of lightning. Lonnie nearly slipped off the trunk. The room was quiet.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” apologized Lonnie, “this program has been interrupted by technical difficulties over which this…”
“I’ve dance, lunched with Dayne, yes.” she pouted. “What of it?”
“There you are, Phil,” nodded Lonnie. “What of it?”
“Dayne’s goal,” he cried warningly, “is money, my money! His reputation is stamped all over him!” he appeared in the doorway, lips tight.
“Pardon me but the lady,” offered Lonnie, “needs a damn good spanking, Phil. And you need a good swift kick in the same identical, anatomical location.”
“Going with me?” Bannister shot back at her.
“No. Hargis is driving me.”
He strode down the hall and into his bedroom. After ramming around noisily, he yelled to her: “Wilson put my costume in the trunk closet?”
“I think so,” she called back. Lonnie scrambled off the trunk and burrowed deep into the closet. Then she added: “Oh, I forget, It’s in your closet, after all.”
Bannister’s hand was turning the trunk closet doorknob when she spoke. He grunted and went back to his room.
“Ah, fair Lady of the Lovely Legs,” sighed Lonnie, thankfully. “Birds of a feather will flock together.”
She appeared in the doorway, a black cape snuggled about her. “I’m going now,” she called. “Be along soon?”
“Shortly.”
She started down the stairs, stopped, and called back: “Love me?”
Silence. Then, loudly: “What’s that?”
“Love me?”
A pause. “Oh, of course. Run along.”
“And beware of the wolf.”
“That’s a good girl.” His voice didn’t carry the humorous banter hers did.
She floated down the stairs, the front door closed, and the house was quiet.
“Now,” sighed Lonnie, stretching luxuriously, “Captain Kidd, if you’ll kindly get the hell out of there, I’ll have a little peace and quiet and some other things. Candidly, I think you’re an old maid. If you’d take that shapely-legged kid in your arms once in a while and crush the devil out of her she wouldn’t hunt up every Tom, Dick and Dayne.”
Bannister appeared in the doorway.
“Wilson!”
“Yes, sir.” from the butler downstairs.
“Did a Mr. Corson call?”
“No, sir.”
“Oh. He was coming over to show me his costume. Keep your head, Wilson, if something scarey shows up. Corson’s a cutup.”
“Very good, sir.”
Bannister presently strode down the stairs in swashbuckling boots, nasty cutlass, and a great floppy pirate hat, and left the house.
Lonnie lost no time. Conda’s bedroom lights were still on as he slid across the hall. Silent, deft fingers worked through drawers. He frowned. Then he ran finger tips along under the edge of Conda’s massive dressing table and bumped into a button.
A secret drawer glided out. Two necklaces, exactly alike, sparkled up at him. He examined them.
“Fool your friends with that one,” smiled Lonnie, putting one back.
He selected three rings, the good necklace, and a pendant. Someone was coming up the stairs.
“Wilson,” he nodded, “to turn off the lights.”
As his eye swept the room for a hiding place, something wild popped into his head. He started whistling and sauntered out into the hall. Wilson’s mouth fell open.
Lonnie smiled easily at the massive butler. “Is Phil in?” he whispered. His self-possession and brazen poise alit a sudden grin across Wilson’s face.
“I might have known, sir,” apologized Wilson, obsequiously. “Mr. Corson, of course.”
“Right.” Lonnie flipped his coat collar up, cocked his cap over one eye, and hunched his head out. “Who am I, Wilson?”
Wilson gasped. “My word! The image of the slimy crook, London Lonnie, sir! That…”
Lonnie frowned. “That’s enough, Wilson. I see you recognize the masquerade.”
“Sorry, sir, but Mr. Bannister just left.”
Lonnie clucked sadly. “Missed him! And Wilson, the old fake, bet me a good drink I couldn’t break in!”
Wilson laughed. “That’s easily fixed, sir.”
They went downstairs, arm in arm.
“I’m sure Mr. Bannister,” winked Wilson, opening a bottle, “would want me to pay his debt with the best.”
Lonnie waved a careless hand. “Oh, Phil would go the limit for me.” Presently he pressed Wilson with: “What do you make of this affair between Conda and Dayne?”
“Nothing good, sir.”
“No real affection?”
“Not a hoot.”
“So?”
“I mean Dayne.”
“Oh.”
Wilson sighed and dipped deeper in the news. “He’s a bad one sir. Shot at in Vienna… this Dayne. Friend of mine working at The Clarendon where Dayne lives, got hold of it. Affair similar to this.”
“Lives at The Clarendon.” grinned Lonnie, absently.
Ten minutes later Wilson was dozing on a davenport. Lonnie raised a window and vanished into the night.
Mrs. Bannister got home, after the ball, a few minutes ahead of Phillip. She was flushed and nervous. Looking about to make sure that Phillip had not yet returned, she went to her room, locked the door and got Dayne on the telephone.
“Jeoffrey? … I want to see you, early, tomorrow.” she told him. “I’ll … buy those letters from you with my necklace. Hear me?”
Dayne was silent for a moment. Then a mocking laugh tumbled into her ear.
“Conda, dear,” he said. “I bow to your cleverness. You’ve won. Totally unlooked for, I assure you. I’m sailing in the morning.”
He hung up. She was trying to solve his words when there was a soft rap on the door.
“It’s Wilson, Mrs. Bannister!” It was a whisper. She opened the door. “Mr. Corson,” whispered Wilson. “said to give this to you when alone.” He handed her a small package.
“Henry Corson?” she whispered, doubtfully.
She took the package and locked the door. There was a note under the string. She read:
“Mrs. Bannister:”
“I was unavoidably delayed in the trunk closet when you telephoned Dayne. I heard your witty repartee with Phillip. Pardon me, but you need a damn good spanking.. You saved my hide when you told Phillip his costume was in his own closet. So I thought the least a gentleman could do to reciprocate was to save your hide. Here are your letters. Wilson told me where Dayne lived.”
“P.S. – My services come high. I took your necklace and some other trinkets.”
“The Man in the Closet.”



3 Responses to “The Wife Who Needed Spanking”

  1. I typed it out for you. Seems like the least I could do, since you do so much for me.

    The Wife Who Needed Spanking
    By Sam E. Smyth
    “Wilson, you may tell Hargis I’ll be ready in 10 minutes.”
    “Very good, Mrs. Bannister.”
    “I’ll take the Mercedes.”
    “Very good, Mrs. Bannister.”
    “London” Lonnie was feeling his way cautiously along a dark upstairs hallway when this conversation halted him. Suddenly, a cluster of brilliant lights directly over Lonnie’s head switched on.
    He shaded the peak of a dark cap over small, humorous eyes and took a swift survey: three open bedrooms on the right; on the left, two closed doors. He opened the nearest door, a large trunk closet, just as the soft tread of feet on heavily carpeted stairs came to him.
    “I’ll take the trunk closet, Wilson.” He smiled. “Very good, sir.”
    Bobbing into the closet and closing the door quietly, he draped a cauliflower ear over the keyhole. Feet swished past the closet door, and stopped.
    Looking through the keyhole, Lonnie saw two exquisitely curved, feminine, red stockinged legs. Stooping, his eyes traveled leisurely up the legs and beyond the knee to a short red skirt, then to a fiery red jacket, and finally Oh! Oh! ’d at a lovely oval face.
    Topping this flaming female was a large red hood from under which stray locks of straw-gold peeped out. The lady was in a worried stew about something.
    “She’s going as little Red Riding Hood,” mused the man in the closet, his eye dropping helplessly down to her legs again. “Now, if I were the wolf, I’d start on the legs. “Oh, Mrs. Conda Bannister?” He bowed. “I am delighted to meet you. I’ve admired your diamonds.”
    “London” Lonnie had been stealing American diamonds and money for so many years, that even his accent was now American.
    Mrs. Conda Bannister snapped on a light and disappeared into a bedroom across the hall.
    “Little Red Riding Hood’s expression,” frowned Lonnie, “looked like she had already seen the wolf.” He vacuumed the cauliflower ear to the keyhole and dialed it around trying to tune in on what she was doing. She was telephoning. “She’s married. She’s worried. She’s alone. No woman can stand that very long without talking.”
    “Hullo,” came from across the hall. “Jeoffrey?… Yes. I was afraid you had left… Listen. Behave tonight. Phillip is inquisitive. … No, nothing definite. I must ask you again for those letters. … Yes, but you’ve lied to me right along. Be a good boy and … Oh, my God, Jeff! You can’t mean that!”
    Lonnie caught a sob. She was listening. Jeoffrey had a lot to say. Presently, she broke out with: “So, that’s what you are! I loathe you! Do you hear? Phillip will divorce me! … Jeff! JEFF!”
    He had hung up on her. She dropped the receiver on its hook, with: “Oh, oh, I’m in for it!”
    Lonnie shook his head. “That’s a shame.” He sighed mockingly “Don’t you know, Conda, that the devil’s horns are in the velvet when the tale is in the silk?” He yawned. “Serves you right, you little fool. Hang on to the letters, Jeff. It’s a good racket.”
    Her room was quiet. “Well, it’s your move Conda, but I wish you’d move your pretty legs and get out of there. I’m not a guest, you know.”
    Jeoffrey Dayne had recently come over from England. What for, New York didn’t seem to care. The fellow was a well-mixed cocktail: a dash of D’Artagnan, a measure of Monte Cristo, the bouquet of Beau Brummell, a sip of the Devil. Conda and Dayne had found each other a whetstone upon which to sharpen wits.
    The grindstone epitomized Phillip and his commercial activities. Conda was just a lovely flower to perfume his home. Phillip was a poor horticulturist… so poor that the lovely flower kept itself fresh and fragrant by feeding on the love and attention others willingly gave.
    A door downstairs closed with a bang. The percussion caused the closet door to rattle. Lonnie’s eye found the keyhole. He smiled. Conda’s red legs were framed in the doorway across the hall.
    “If that’s Phil,” mused Lonnie, “they’ll probably put on something dramatic.”
    Firm steps on the stairs. The red legs disappeared into the bedroom, then soft humming.
    “I’ll bet that is an effort.” chuckled Lonnie. Bannister swished down the hall and halted at her bedroom door, where he stood in dour silence.
    Lonnie quietly approved Bannister’s six foot one, the Barrymore profile, the resolute jaw. “Money maker. Lets the girlfriend drift. So busy chasing the dame on the dollar that the dame in the home coins her own slogan of liberty.”
    Bannister stood silent, motionless, gazing in at Conda. Her soft humming seemed to irritate him.
    “Well, Bluebeard,” sighed Lonnie, “make up your mind what to do with Fatima. She must be playing that old game, ‘I didn’t hear you come …’”
    “Oh, Phillip,” came from across the hall. “I didn’t hear you come in.” A little laugh of surprise trailed off into the humming again.
    “Watch your step, lady,” frowned Lonnie. “The boyfriend knows something!”
    “You look charming.” offered Phillip, leaning leisurely against the door.
    The humming bird stopped humming. “Hadn’t you better start your Captain Kidd makeup?”
    He ignored the advice. “If I remember correctly,” he said, and his tone implied that he did, “Little Red Riding Hood met a wolf, didn’t she?”
    The subtlety of the words plunged her into silence.
    “Smart crack,” sighed Lonnie. “Now, Lady of the Lovely legs, let’s see you keep the wolf from the door.”
    Bannister evidently thought that was enough for her to think about. He turned as if to go down the hall when she spoke.
    “I think she did,” Conda laughed, feebly. “I can’t hope to meet a wolf at a masquerade, can I, Phillip?”
    He turned back quickly. “Can’t you?” He was quite clear what he meant.
    Bannister went into the room. “There’s too much talk.” He blurted, “about you and Dayne.”
    She was making a lot of unnecessary noise opening and shutting drawers. “Missed choice scandal, haven’t I?”
    “You mean messed,” correct Lonnie.
    A person can,” Bannister broke out, “be too close to a thing to…”
    “STOP it, will you!” Her voice burst like a crash of lightning. Lonnie nearly slipped off the trunk. The room was quiet.
    “Ladies and gentlemen,” apologized Lonnie, “this program has been interrupted by technical difficulties over which this…”
    “I’ve dance, lunched with Dayne, yes.” she pouted. “What of it?”
    “There you are, Phil,” nodded Lonnie. “What of it?”
    “Dayne’s goal,” he cried warningly, “is money, my money! His reputation is stamped all over him!” he appeared in the doorway, lips tight.
    “Pardon me but the lady,” offered Lonnie, “needs a damn good spanking, Phil. And you need a good swift kick in the same identical, anatomical location.”
    “Going with me?” Bannister shot back at her.
    “No. Hargis is driving me.”
    He strode down the hall and into his bedroom. After ramming around noisily, he yelled to her: “Wilson put my costume in the trunk closet?”
    “I think so,” she called back. Lonnie scrambled off the trunk and burrowed deep into the closet. Then she added: “Oh, I forget, It’s in your closet, after all.”
    Bannister’s hand was turning the trunk closet doorknob when she spoke. He grunted and went back to his room.
    “Ah, fair Lady of the Lovely Legs,” sighed Lonnie, thankfully. “Birds of a feather will flock together.”
    She appeared in the doorway, a black cape snuggled about her. “I’m going now,” she called. “Be along soon?”
    “Shortly.”
    She started down the stairs, stopped, and called back: “Love me?”
    Silence. Then, loudly: “What’s that?”
    “Love me?”
    A pause. “Oh, of course. Run along.”
    “And beware of the wolf.”
    “That’s a good girl.” His voice didn’t carry the humorous banter hers did.
    She floated down the stairs, the front door closed, and the house was quiet.
    “Now,” sighed Lonnie, stretching luxuriously, “Captain Kidd, if you’ll kindly get the hell out of there, I’ll have a little peace and quiet and some other things. Candidly, I think you’re an old maid. If you’d take that shapely-legged kid in your arms once in a while and crush the devil out of her she wouldn’t hunt up every Tom, Dick and Dayne.”
    Bannister appeared in the doorway.
    “Wilson!”
    “Yes, sir.” from the butler downstairs.
    “Did a Mr. Corson call?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Oh. He was coming over to show me his costume. Keep your head, Wilson, if something scarey shows up. Corson’s a cutup.”
    “Very good, sir.”
    Bannister presently strode down the stairs in swashbuckling boots, nasty cutlass, and a great floppy pirate hat, and left the house.
    Lonnie lost no time. Conda’s bedroom lights were still on as he slid across the hall. Silent, deft fingers worked through drawers. He frowned. Then he ran finger tips along under the edge of Conda’s massive dressing table and bumped into a button.
    A secret drawer glided out. Two necklaces, exactly alike, sparkled up at him. He examined them.
    “Fool your friends with that one,” smiled Lonnie, putting one back.
    He selected three rings, the good necklace, and a pendant. Someone was coming up the stairs.
    “Wilson,” he nodded, “to turn off the lights.”
    As his eye swept the room for a hiding place, something wild popped into his head. He started whistling and sauntered out into the hall. Wilson’s mouth fell open.
    Lonnie smiled easily at the massive butler. “Is Phil in?” he whispered. His self-possession and brazen poise alit a sudden grin across Wilson’s face.
    “I might have known, sir,” apologized Wilson, obsequiously. “Mr. Corson, of course.”
    “Right.” Lonnie flipped his coat collar up, cocked his cap over one eye, and hunched his head out. “Who am I, Wilson?”
    Wilson gasped. “My word! The image of the slimy crook, London Lonnie, sir! That…”
    Lonnie frowned. “That’s enough, Wilson. I see you recognize the masquerade.”
    “Sorry, sir, but Mr. Bannister just left.”
    Lonnie clucked sadly. “Missed him! And Wilson, the old fake, bet me a good drink I couldn’t break in!”
    Wilson laughed. “That’s easily fixed, sir.”
    They went downstairs, arm in arm.
    “I’m sure Mr. Bannister,” winked Wilson, opening a bottle, “would want me to pay his debt with the best.”
    Lonnie waved a careless hand. “Oh, Phil would go the limit for me.” Presently he pressed Wilson with: “What do you make of this affair between Conda and Dayne?”
    “Nothing good, sir.”
    “No real affection?”
    “Not a hoot.”
    “So?”
    “I mean Dayne.”
    “Oh.”
    Wilson sighed and dipped deeper in the news. “He’s a bad one sir. Shot at in Vienna… this Dayne. Friend of mine working at The Clarendon where Dayne lives, got hold of it. Affair similar to this.”
    “Lives at The Clarendon.” grinned Lonnie, absently.
    Ten minutes later Wilson was dozing on a davenport. Lonnie raised a window and vanished into the night.
    Mrs. Bannister got home, after the ball, a few minutes ahead of Phillip. She was flushed and nervous. Looking about to make sure that Phillip had not yet returned, she went to her room, locked the door and got Dayne on the telephone.
    “Jeoffrey? … I want to see you, early, tomorrow.” she told him. “I’ll … buy those letters from you with my necklace. Hear me?”
    Dayne was silent for a moment. Then a mocking laugh tumbled into her ear.
    “Conda, dear,” he said. “I bow to your cleverness. You’ve won. Totally unlooked for, I assure you. I’m sailing in the morning.”
    He hung up. She was trying to solve his words when there was a soft rap on the door.
    “It’s Wilson, Mrs. Bannister!” It was a whisper. She opened the door. “Mr. Corson,” whispered Wilson. “said to give this to you when alone.” He handed her a small package.
    “Henry Corson?” she whispered, doubtfully.
    She took the package and locked the door. There was a note under the string. She read:
    “Mrs. Bannister:”
    “I was unavoidably delayed in the trunk closet when you telephoned Dayne. I heard your witty repartee with Phillip. Pardon me, but you need a damn good spanking.. You saved my hide when you told Phillip his costume was in his own closet. So I thought the least a gentleman could do to reciprocate was to save your hide. Here are your letters. Wilson told me where Dayne lived.”
    “P.S. – My services come high. I took your necklace and some other trinkets.”
    “The Man in the Closet.”


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