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can do it better."
"_This_ man we want," said Green Shirt. "Can you tell us where to find him?"
"That's easy. The other man at the table with us. The one who was so happy when you ordered whiskey."
"You mean the Hansen man?"
"He is the one, exactly."
"He write the bang-bangs good?"
"Much better than I do. He's a genius at it." Green Shirt was overcome with gratitude. He hugged Hart to him in an
extravagant expression of good will.
"You fair," he said. "You fine. It was nice of you to tell us."
A window banged up in a house across the street and a man stuck his head out.
"If you guys don't break it up," he bellowed, "I'll call the cops."
"We shatter the peace," sighed Green Shirt "It is a queer law you have."
The window banged down again.
Green Shirt put a friendly hand upon Hart's shoulder. "We love the wild and woollies," he said gravely. "'We want
the very best. We thank you. We find this Hansen man."
He turned around and loped back up the street, followed by his ruffians.
Hart stood on the corner and watched them go. He drew a deep breath and let it slowly out.
It had been easy, he told himself, once you got the angle. And it had been Jasper, actually, who had given him the
angle. _Truth Is regarded as a universal constant_, Jasper had said. _We are the only liars._
It had turned out tough on Jasper - a downright dirty trick. But the guy wanted to go on vacation, didn't he? And
here was the prospect of a travel jaunt which would be really worthwhile. He'd refused the use of his machine and he
had guffawed insultingly when Green Shirt had asked about the wild and woollies. If ever a guy had it coming to him,
Jasper Hansen was that guy.
And above and beyond all that, he always kept his door locked - which showed a contemptible suspicion of his
fellow writers.
Hart swung about and walked rapidly away in an opposite direction. Eventually he'd go back home, he told himself.
But not right now. Later on he'd go, when the dust had settled slightly.
It was dawn when Hart climbed the stairs to the seventh floor and went down the corridor to Jasper Hansen's door.
The door was locked as usual. But he took out of his pockets a thin piece of spring steel he'd picked up in a junkyard
and did some judicious prying. In the matter of seconds, the lock clicked back and the door swung open.
The yarner squatted in its corner, a bright and lovely sight.
Jiggered up, Jasper had affirmed. If someone else ever tried to use it, it would very likely burn out or kill him. But that
had been just talk, just cover-up for his pig-headed selfishness.
Two weeks, Hart told himself. If he used his head he should be able to operate it without suspicion for at least two
weeks. It would be easy. All he'd have to say was that Jasper had told him that he could borrow it any time he wished.
And if he was any judge of character, Jasper would not be returning soon.
But even so, two weeks would be all the time he'd need. In two weeks, working day and night, he could turn out
enough copy to buy himself a new machine.
He walked across the room to the yarner and pulled out the chair that stood in front of it. Calmly he sat down,
reached out a hand and patted the instrument panel. It was a good machine. It turned out a lot of stuff - good stuff.
Jasper had been selling steadily. _Good old yarner_, Hart said.
He dropped his finger to the switch and flipped it over. Nothing happened. Startled, he flipped it back, flipped it on
again. Still nothing happened.
He got up hastily to check the power connection. There was no power connection! For a shocked moment, he stood
rooted to the floor.
Jiggered up, Jasper had said. Jiggered up so ingeniously that it could dispense with power?
It just wasn't possible. It was unthinkable. With fumbling fingers, he lifted the side panel, and peered inside.
The machine's innards were a mess. Half of the tubes were gone. Others were burned out, and the wiring had been
ripped loose in places. The whole relay section was covered with dust. Some of the metal, he saw, was rusty. The
entire machine was just a pile of junk.
He replaced the panel with suddenly shaking fingers, reeled back blindly and collided with a table. He clutched at it
and held on tight to still the shaking of his hands, to steady the mad roaring in his head. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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can do it better."
"_This_ man we want," said Green Shirt. "Can you tell us where to find him?"
"That's easy. The other man at the table with us. The one who was so happy when you ordered whiskey."
"You mean the Hansen man?"
"He is the one, exactly."
"He write the bang-bangs good?"
"Much better than I do. He's a genius at it." Green Shirt was overcome with gratitude. He hugged Hart to him in an
extravagant expression of good will.
"You fair," he said. "You fine. It was nice of you to tell us."
A window banged up in a house across the street and a man stuck his head out.
"If you guys don't break it up," he bellowed, "I'll call the cops."
"We shatter the peace," sighed Green Shirt "It is a queer law you have."
The window banged down again.
Green Shirt put a friendly hand upon Hart's shoulder. "We love the wild and woollies," he said gravely. "'We want
the very best. We thank you. We find this Hansen man."
He turned around and loped back up the street, followed by his ruffians.
Hart stood on the corner and watched them go. He drew a deep breath and let it slowly out.
It had been easy, he told himself, once you got the angle. And it had been Jasper, actually, who had given him the
angle. _Truth Is regarded as a universal constant_, Jasper had said. _We are the only liars._
It had turned out tough on Jasper - a downright dirty trick. But the guy wanted to go on vacation, didn't he? And
here was the prospect of a travel jaunt which would be really worthwhile. He'd refused the use of his machine and he
had guffawed insultingly when Green Shirt had asked about the wild and woollies. If ever a guy had it coming to him,
Jasper Hansen was that guy.
And above and beyond all that, he always kept his door locked - which showed a contemptible suspicion of his
fellow writers.
Hart swung about and walked rapidly away in an opposite direction. Eventually he'd go back home, he told himself.
But not right now. Later on he'd go, when the dust had settled slightly.
It was dawn when Hart climbed the stairs to the seventh floor and went down the corridor to Jasper Hansen's door.
The door was locked as usual. But he took out of his pockets a thin piece of spring steel he'd picked up in a junkyard
and did some judicious prying. In the matter of seconds, the lock clicked back and the door swung open.
The yarner squatted in its corner, a bright and lovely sight.
Jiggered up, Jasper had affirmed. If someone else ever tried to use it, it would very likely burn out or kill him. But that
had been just talk, just cover-up for his pig-headed selfishness.
Two weeks, Hart told himself. If he used his head he should be able to operate it without suspicion for at least two
weeks. It would be easy. All he'd have to say was that Jasper had told him that he could borrow it any time he wished.
And if he was any judge of character, Jasper would not be returning soon.
But even so, two weeks would be all the time he'd need. In two weeks, working day and night, he could turn out
enough copy to buy himself a new machine.
He walked across the room to the yarner and pulled out the chair that stood in front of it. Calmly he sat down,
reached out a hand and patted the instrument panel. It was a good machine. It turned out a lot of stuff - good stuff.
Jasper had been selling steadily. _Good old yarner_, Hart said.
He dropped his finger to the switch and flipped it over. Nothing happened. Startled, he flipped it back, flipped it on
again. Still nothing happened.
He got up hastily to check the power connection. There was no power connection! For a shocked moment, he stood
rooted to the floor.
Jiggered up, Jasper had said. Jiggered up so ingeniously that it could dispense with power?
It just wasn't possible. It was unthinkable. With fumbling fingers, he lifted the side panel, and peered inside.
The machine's innards were a mess. Half of the tubes were gone. Others were burned out, and the wiring had been
ripped loose in places. The whole relay section was covered with dust. Some of the metal, he saw, was rusty. The
entire machine was just a pile of junk.
He replaced the panel with suddenly shaking fingers, reeled back blindly and collided with a table. He clutched at it
and held on tight to still the shaking of his hands, to steady the mad roaring in his head. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]