whispered out of the shadows, ‘has this guy really won a hundred and forty thousand bucks?’
‘Yes, sir, I have won them,’ Dr Hasselbacher said firmly before Wormold could reply, ‘I have won them as certainly as you exist, my almost unseen friend. You would not exist if I didn’t believe you existed, nor would those dollars. I believe, therefore you are.’
‘What do you mean I wouldn’t exist?’
‘You exist only in my thoughts, my friend. If I left this room …’
‘You’re nuts.’
‘Prove you exist, then.’
‘What do you mean, prove? Of course I exist. I’ve got a first-class business in real estate: a wife and a couple of kids in Miami: I flew here this morning by Delta: I’m drinking this Scotch, aren’t I?’ The voice contained a hint of tears.
‘Poor fellow,’ Dr Hasselbacher said, ‘you deserve a more imaginative creator than I have been. Why didn’t I do better for you than Miami and real estate? Something of imagination. A name to be remembered.’
‘What’s wrong with my name?’
The parachutists at both ends of the bar were tense with disapproval; one shouldn’t show nerves before the jump.
‘Nothing that I cannot remedy by taking a little thought.’
‘You ask anyone in Miami about Harry Morgan …’
‘I really should have done better than that. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ Dr Hasselbacher said, ‘I’ll go out of the bar for a minute and eliminate you. Then I’ll come back with an improved version.’
‘What do you mean, an improved version?’
‘Now if my friend, Mr Wormold here, had invented you, you would have been a happier man. He would have given you an Oxford education, a name like Pennyfeather …’
‘What do you mean, Pennyfeather? You’ve been drinking.’
‘Of course I’ve been drinking. Drink blurs the imagination. That’s why I thought you up in so banal a way: Miami and real estate, flying Delta. Pennyfeather would have come from Europe by K.L.M., he would be drinking his national drink, a pink gin.’
‘I’m drinking Scotch and I like it.’
‘You think you’re drinking Scotch. Or rather, to be accurate, I have imagined you drinking Scotch. But we’re going to change all that,’ Dr Hasselbacher said cheerily. ‘I’ll just go out in the hall for a minute and think up some real improvements.’
‘You can’t monkey around with me,’ the man said with anxiety.
Dr Hasselbacher drained his drink, laid a dollar on the bar, and rose with uncertain dignity. ‘You’ll thank me for this,’ he said. ‘What shall it be? Trust me and Mr Wormold here. A painter, a poet – or would you prefer a life of adventure, a gunrunner, a Secret Service agent?’
He bowed from the doorway to the agitated shadow. ‘I apologize for the real estate.’
The voice said nervously, seeking reassurance, ‘He’s drunk or nuts,’ but the parachutists made no reply.
Wormold said, ‘Well, I’ll be saying good night, Hasselbacher. I’m late.’
‘The least I can do, Mr Wormold, is to accompany you and explain how I came to delay you. I’m sure when I tell your friend of my good fortune he will understand.’
‘It’s not necessary. It’s really not necessary,’ Wormold said. Hawthorne, he knew, would jump to conclusions. A reasonable Hawthorne, if such existed, was bad enough, but a suspicious Hawthorne … His mind boggled at the thought.
He made towards the lift with Dr Hasselbacher trailing behind. Ignoring a red signal light and a warning Mind the Step, Dr Hasselbacher stumbled. ‘Oh dear,’ he said, ‘my ankle.’
‘Go home, Hasselbacher,’ Wormold said with desperation. He stepped into the lift, but Dr Hasselbacher, putting on a turn of speed, entered too. He said, ‘There’s no pain that money won’t cure. It’s a long time since I’ve had such a good evening.’
‘Sixth floor,’ Wormold said. ‘I want to be alone, Hasselbacher.’
‘Why? Excuse me. I have the hiccups.’
‘This is a private
‘Yes, sir, I have won them,’ Dr Hasselbacher said firmly before Wormold could reply, ‘I have won them as certainly as you exist, my almost unseen friend. You would not exist if I didn’t believe you existed, nor would those dollars. I believe, therefore you are.’
‘What do you mean I wouldn’t exist?’
‘You exist only in my thoughts, my friend. If I left this room …’
‘You’re nuts.’
‘Prove you exist, then.’
‘What do you mean, prove? Of course I exist. I’ve got a first-class business in real estate: a wife and a couple of kids in Miami: I flew here this morning by Delta: I’m drinking this Scotch, aren’t I?’ The voice contained a hint of tears.
‘Poor fellow,’ Dr Hasselbacher said, ‘you deserve a more imaginative creator than I have been. Why didn’t I do better for you than Miami and real estate? Something of imagination. A name to be remembered.’
‘What’s wrong with my name?’
The parachutists at both ends of the bar were tense with disapproval; one shouldn’t show nerves before the jump.
‘Nothing that I cannot remedy by taking a little thought.’
‘You ask anyone in Miami about Harry Morgan …’
‘I really should have done better than that. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ Dr Hasselbacher said, ‘I’ll go out of the bar for a minute and eliminate you. Then I’ll come back with an improved version.’
‘What do you mean, an improved version?’
‘Now if my friend, Mr Wormold here, had invented you, you would have been a happier man. He would have given you an Oxford education, a name like Pennyfeather …’
‘What do you mean, Pennyfeather? You’ve been drinking.’
‘Of course I’ve been drinking. Drink blurs the imagination. That’s why I thought you up in so banal a way: Miami and real estate, flying Delta. Pennyfeather would have come from Europe by K.L.M., he would be drinking his national drink, a pink gin.’
‘I’m drinking Scotch and I like it.’
‘You think you’re drinking Scotch. Or rather, to be accurate, I have imagined you drinking Scotch. But we’re going to change all that,’ Dr Hasselbacher said cheerily. ‘I’ll just go out in the hall for a minute and think up some real improvements.’
‘You can’t monkey around with me,’ the man said with anxiety.
Dr Hasselbacher drained his drink, laid a dollar on the bar, and rose with uncertain dignity. ‘You’ll thank me for this,’ he said. ‘What shall it be? Trust me and Mr Wormold here. A painter, a poet – or would you prefer a life of adventure, a gunrunner, a Secret Service agent?’
He bowed from the doorway to the agitated shadow. ‘I apologize for the real estate.’
The voice said nervously, seeking reassurance, ‘He’s drunk or nuts,’ but the parachutists made no reply.
Wormold said, ‘Well, I’ll be saying good night, Hasselbacher. I’m late.’
‘The least I can do, Mr Wormold, is to accompany you and explain how I came to delay you. I’m sure when I tell your friend of my good fortune he will understand.’
‘It’s not necessary. It’s really not necessary,’ Wormold said. Hawthorne, he knew, would jump to conclusions. A reasonable Hawthorne, if such existed, was bad enough, but a suspicious Hawthorne … His mind boggled at the thought.
He made towards the lift with Dr Hasselbacher trailing behind. Ignoring a red signal light and a warning Mind the Step, Dr Hasselbacher stumbled. ‘Oh dear,’ he said, ‘my ankle.’
‘Go home, Hasselbacher,’ Wormold said with desperation. He stepped into the lift, but Dr Hasselbacher, putting on a turn of speed, entered too. He said, ‘There’s no pain that money won’t cure. It’s a long time since I’ve had such a good evening.’
‘Sixth floor,’ Wormold said. ‘I want to be alone, Hasselbacher.’
‘Why? Excuse me. I have the hiccups.’
‘This is a private
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