Read Online The Girl, the Gold Watch and Everything by John D. MacDonald - Free Book Online
Authors: John D. MacDonald
Tags: Sci-Fi
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strange fellow. He made no wrong moves. I've often wondered at the secret of his success, and the only answer that seems even halfway reasonable is that, long ago, he devised certain mathematical procedures which enabled him to predict future events. I keep wondering if those formulae are in that letter. It would account for his anxiety about you. The ability to predict would be a terrifying responsibility."
Kirby frowned and nodded. "It would account for those gambling winnings when I was a kid. And then he lost them back on purpose, so people would leave him alone."
"I intend to live through this year, too. Just to learn what is in the letter."
Kirby walked from Wintermore's office to a neighborhood drugstore for a sandwich and coffee. One little word kept rebounding from the cerebral walls. Ninny. It was a nineteenth-century word, yet he could not find a modern equivalent with the same shade of meaning. Probably it was a corruption of nincompoop. Ninny—that soft, smiling, self-effacing, apologetic fellow, the type who is terribly sorry when you happen to step on his foot, the kind you can borrow money from in the certainty he will never demand you repay it. And if he was a little brown dog, he'd wear his tail tucked slightly under, and wag it nervously, endlessly.
He wondered at his own degree of ninnyism. How severe was it? How incurable was it? Could a man walk through life in a constant readiness to duck? On the other hand, were not the opposite traits rather unpleasant? Arrogance, belligerence, domination. Yet the arrogant man seemed to have considerably less difficulty with one primary aspect of existence.
"Girls," he said aloud. A fat woman on the adjoining stool turned and gave him a long cold stare. Kirby felt himself flush and felt his mouth begin to stretch into a meek smile of apology. As he began to hunch over, he straightened his shoulders, lifted his chin and said, "Madame, I was talking to myself, not to you. If you feel you're in the presence of a dangerous nut, I suggest you move to another stool."
"Whaddaya? Some wise guy?"
"You glared at me, so I responded."
"All kinda nuts in Miami," she muttered and hunched herself over her tuna fish.
Kirby felt a small glow of pride. Perhaps not completely a ninny. But one had to start in small ways. One had to emerge, step by step, from ninnyism, acquiring confidence at each small victory.
Actually, at the conference, he hadn't given a true ninny reaction. Ninnyism would require making a detailed statement of what he had been doing for O. K. Devices, and making them believe it. He had told the truth, but as a gesture of revolt, had made it sound like an evasion. In all honesty he had to admit that it was the intransigence of Miss Wilma Farnham which had backstopped his moments of rebellion. Let the executives sweat.
When a chunky girl came to take his money he braced himself and said, "The coffee is lousy."
"Huh?"
"The coffee is lousy."
She gave him a melting smile. "Boy! It sure is."
He went to the phone booths and called Wilma Farnham at her apartment. She answered on the second ring, her voice cool and precise.
"Kirby Winter. I tried to get you yesterday," he said.
"Yes?"
"Well, I thought we ought to talk."
"You did?"
"What's the matter with you?"
"Nothing's the matter with me, Mr. Winter. The office has been closed. I've turned the books over to the attorneys. I'm seeking other employment. Mr. Krepps left me a generous bequest, but I shan't receive it for some months they tell me. The relationship is over, I would say. Good-by, Mr. Winter."
He called her back. "What could you possibly have to say to me, Mr. Winter?"
"Listen, Miss Farnham. Wilma. I heard you burned all the records."
"That is correct."
"So it looks as if the tax people might subpoena us—"
"Mr. Winter! I knew you would call me. I knew that the instant Mr. Krepps died you'd forget your word of honor to him. I intend to keep my word, Mr. Winter. I would rot in prison
Kirby frowned and nodded. "It would account for those gambling winnings when I was a kid. And then he lost them back on purpose, so people would leave him alone."
"I intend to live through this year, too. Just to learn what is in the letter."
Kirby walked from Wintermore's office to a neighborhood drugstore for a sandwich and coffee. One little word kept rebounding from the cerebral walls. Ninny. It was a nineteenth-century word, yet he could not find a modern equivalent with the same shade of meaning. Probably it was a corruption of nincompoop. Ninny—that soft, smiling, self-effacing, apologetic fellow, the type who is terribly sorry when you happen to step on his foot, the kind you can borrow money from in the certainty he will never demand you repay it. And if he was a little brown dog, he'd wear his tail tucked slightly under, and wag it nervously, endlessly.
He wondered at his own degree of ninnyism. How severe was it? How incurable was it? Could a man walk through life in a constant readiness to duck? On the other hand, were not the opposite traits rather unpleasant? Arrogance, belligerence, domination. Yet the arrogant man seemed to have considerably less difficulty with one primary aspect of existence.
"Girls," he said aloud. A fat woman on the adjoining stool turned and gave him a long cold stare. Kirby felt himself flush and felt his mouth begin to stretch into a meek smile of apology. As he began to hunch over, he straightened his shoulders, lifted his chin and said, "Madame, I was talking to myself, not to you. If you feel you're in the presence of a dangerous nut, I suggest you move to another stool."
"Whaddaya? Some wise guy?"
"You glared at me, so I responded."
"All kinda nuts in Miami," she muttered and hunched herself over her tuna fish.
Kirby felt a small glow of pride. Perhaps not completely a ninny. But one had to start in small ways. One had to emerge, step by step, from ninnyism, acquiring confidence at each small victory.
Actually, at the conference, he hadn't given a true ninny reaction. Ninnyism would require making a detailed statement of what he had been doing for O. K. Devices, and making them believe it. He had told the truth, but as a gesture of revolt, had made it sound like an evasion. In all honesty he had to admit that it was the intransigence of Miss Wilma Farnham which had backstopped his moments of rebellion. Let the executives sweat.
When a chunky girl came to take his money he braced himself and said, "The coffee is lousy."
"Huh?"
"The coffee is lousy."
She gave him a melting smile. "Boy! It sure is."
He went to the phone booths and called Wilma Farnham at her apartment. She answered on the second ring, her voice cool and precise.
"Kirby Winter. I tried to get you yesterday," he said.
"Yes?"
"Well, I thought we ought to talk."
"You did?"
"What's the matter with you?"
"Nothing's the matter with me, Mr. Winter. The office has been closed. I've turned the books over to the attorneys. I'm seeking other employment. Mr. Krepps left me a generous bequest, but I shan't receive it for some months they tell me. The relationship is over, I would say. Good-by, Mr. Winter."
He called her back. "What could you possibly have to say to me, Mr. Winter?"
"Listen, Miss Farnham. Wilma. I heard you burned all the records."
"That is correct."
"So it looks as if the tax people might subpoena us—"
"Mr. Winter! I knew you would call me. I knew that the instant Mr. Krepps died you'd forget your word of honor to him. I intend to keep my word, Mr. Winter. I would rot in prison
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