not going with you, Mr. Torrento."
"You shut up!" His wife glared at him fiercely. "I guess I've got something to say about what we're going to do!"
"Now, take it easy," Rudy said. "What's wrong with the deal, Clint? I thought it added up good for you, but maybe I could sweeten it a little."
"What's wrong with it?" The doctor waved his hands wildly. "Why-why, everything's wrong! I'm a respected citizen, a professional man. I can't just throw everything I am overboard, and go gallivanting across the country with a-uh-I couldn't do it for any amount of money!"
"Why couldn't you?" Rudy asked interestedly.
"Well-uh-because! I just got through telling you!"
"The respected citizen gimmick? But you ain't going to be one, remember? You won't be very long, anyway, unless you figure on being a dead one with a hide full of broken bones and a pound of raw hamburger for a face."
"He's already dead," his wife snapped contemptuously. Then, her manner changing, she slid off the stool, crossed the aisle and knelt at Clinton's side. "Now, Harold, hon," she coaxed, "why do you want to act like this? Don't you love me any more? Don't you want me to be happy? We could have such a wonderful life together, hon. Not having to worry and fret about money all the time, and people respecting and looking up to you, instead of laughing and joking like…"
"But, Fran!" The doctor squirmed. "I-you know I love you and want you to be happy, but…"
"That's been your whole trouble, hon. Money. You just didn't have the money to get started off right. Oh, I know how smart and wonderful my lambie is, even if I haven't acted like it, and I could just absolutely cry sometimes when I think how different it could be for him. Just think of it, lambie! Starting out in a new place, with everything we need to make a good impression. Good clothes, and a swell car and a decent place to live. And a real office for you, hon. A nice big office, and a fine big laboratory where you could carry on your experiments…"
She held him close, and over his shoulder she winked at Rudy. Clinton twitched and sputtered, simultaneously attempting-it seemed- -to return her embrace and disengage himself from it. His protests grew weaker and fewer. Finally, as a last resort, he professed a willingness to take on the enterprise, he wanted to do it. But the potential danger made it unthinkable.
"We might have an accident, and they'd find out who Mr. Torrento was. Or the police might just stop us on suspicion-you know, one of those routine investigations. A lot of criminals get caught that way and…"
"A lot of people get nibbled to death by wild ducks," Rudy yawned. "But I'll tell you what I'll do, Clint. We get a bad break like you mention, and you and Fran can be hostages. I'll back you up on it. You're helping me because I'd've killed you if you hadn't."
Clinton sighed, and gave up. All his life he had given up. He didn't know why it was like that; why a man who wanted nothing but to live honestly and industriously and usefully-who, briefly, asked only the privileges of giving and helping-had had to compromise and surrender at every turn. But that was the way it had been, and that apparently was the way it was to be.
"I suppose it doesn't seem to you that I'm giving up much, Mr. Torrento," he said dully. "But to me-" he paused, his eyes straying to the swaybacked mare, and his voice gathered new strength. "They're awfully smart, Mr. Torrento. You wouldn't believe how smart and, uh, nice they can be. Why, you take something like a pig or even a garter snake, and pet it and feed it and fix up whatever's wrong with it-just treat it like you'd want to be treated if you were what it is…"
"Oh, put it in a book." His wife jumped to her feet. "We've got things to do."
Rudy's car was driven into a weed-choked and rocky pasture, buried beneath a stack of moldering hay. (It is still there if anyone cares to look.) The doctor's business and professional affairs were wound up by two
"You shut up!" His wife glared at him fiercely. "I guess I've got something to say about what we're going to do!"
"Now, take it easy," Rudy said. "What's wrong with the deal, Clint? I thought it added up good for you, but maybe I could sweeten it a little."
"What's wrong with it?" The doctor waved his hands wildly. "Why-why, everything's wrong! I'm a respected citizen, a professional man. I can't just throw everything I am overboard, and go gallivanting across the country with a-uh-I couldn't do it for any amount of money!"
"Why couldn't you?" Rudy asked interestedly.
"Well-uh-because! I just got through telling you!"
"The respected citizen gimmick? But you ain't going to be one, remember? You won't be very long, anyway, unless you figure on being a dead one with a hide full of broken bones and a pound of raw hamburger for a face."
"He's already dead," his wife snapped contemptuously. Then, her manner changing, she slid off the stool, crossed the aisle and knelt at Clinton's side. "Now, Harold, hon," she coaxed, "why do you want to act like this? Don't you love me any more? Don't you want me to be happy? We could have such a wonderful life together, hon. Not having to worry and fret about money all the time, and people respecting and looking up to you, instead of laughing and joking like…"
"But, Fran!" The doctor squirmed. "I-you know I love you and want you to be happy, but…"
"That's been your whole trouble, hon. Money. You just didn't have the money to get started off right. Oh, I know how smart and wonderful my lambie is, even if I haven't acted like it, and I could just absolutely cry sometimes when I think how different it could be for him. Just think of it, lambie! Starting out in a new place, with everything we need to make a good impression. Good clothes, and a swell car and a decent place to live. And a real office for you, hon. A nice big office, and a fine big laboratory where you could carry on your experiments…"
She held him close, and over his shoulder she winked at Rudy. Clinton twitched and sputtered, simultaneously attempting-it seemed- -to return her embrace and disengage himself from it. His protests grew weaker and fewer. Finally, as a last resort, he professed a willingness to take on the enterprise, he wanted to do it. But the potential danger made it unthinkable.
"We might have an accident, and they'd find out who Mr. Torrento was. Or the police might just stop us on suspicion-you know, one of those routine investigations. A lot of criminals get caught that way and…"
"A lot of people get nibbled to death by wild ducks," Rudy yawned. "But I'll tell you what I'll do, Clint. We get a bad break like you mention, and you and Fran can be hostages. I'll back you up on it. You're helping me because I'd've killed you if you hadn't."
Clinton sighed, and gave up. All his life he had given up. He didn't know why it was like that; why a man who wanted nothing but to live honestly and industriously and usefully-who, briefly, asked only the privileges of giving and helping-had had to compromise and surrender at every turn. But that was the way it had been, and that apparently was the way it was to be.
"I suppose it doesn't seem to you that I'm giving up much, Mr. Torrento," he said dully. "But to me-" he paused, his eyes straying to the swaybacked mare, and his voice gathered new strength. "They're awfully smart, Mr. Torrento. You wouldn't believe how smart and, uh, nice they can be. Why, you take something like a pig or even a garter snake, and pet it and feed it and fix up whatever's wrong with it-just treat it like you'd want to be treated if you were what it is…"
"Oh, put it in a book." His wife jumped to her feet. "We've got things to do."
Rudy's car was driven into a weed-choked and rocky pasture, buried beneath a stack of moldering hay. (It is still there if anyone cares to look.) The doctor's business and professional affairs were wound up by two
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