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Twilight Zone (Television Program : 1959-1964)
word—“man?—And we’ll throw this into the bargain. Whatever aging takes place on your features will be more or less imperceptible.”
Bedeker turned to him from the mirror. “Cadwallader, I believe we’re close to making a deal.”
Cadwallader began to rub his hands together and then quickly put them behind his back. “Mr. Bedeker,” he said happily, you’ll never regret this. Not to your dying day!” Bedeker looked at him sharply. “Which by rights,” Cadwallader added hurriedly, “should not be for several thousand years. However, there is something, Mr. Bedeker—”
Bedeker waggled a finger at him. “Ah ha. Ah ha. Ah ha! Now it comes out, huh?”
“It’s for your benefit, I can assure you.” Cadwallader took a large, thick document from his pocket and thumbed through it. “Article 93,” he exclaimed. “Here it is, right here.” He pointed to the page and turned it around so that Bedeker could see it.
“It’s for your benefit, I can assure you.” Cadwallader took a large, thick document from his pocket and thumbed through it. “Article 93,” he exclaimed. “Here it is, right here.” He pointed to the page and turned it around so that Bedeker could see it.
“What about it?” Bedeker asked warily. “Read it to me.”
The fat gentleman cleared his throat. “It’s in the nature of an escape clause” he said. “ Your escape clause. Whereas the party of the first part upon due notification to the party of the second part—” Cadwallader mumbled. “Oh, this is tiresome. I’ll just give it to you thumb nail. It’s simply this. If you ever get tired of living, Mr. Bedeker, you can exercise this clause by calling on me and requesting your—” He smiled. “Oh there go the semantics again. Your demise? At which point I shall see to it that you are given a rapid and uncomplicated—” he held up his hands and wiggled his fat fingers—“departure?’
Bedeker puckered up his mouth in a wise, elfish little look, snapped his fingers and beckoned for the document. Cadwallader handed it over with a flourish, then loosened his tie as Bedeker riffled through the pages. Mr. Cadwallader took a large crimson handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face.
“You sure keep it hot in here!” he murmured.
Bedeker finished the last page, then handed the document back to the fat man. “It appears to be in order, Mr. Cadwallader, but I can assure you that I’m not the sort of man to kill the goose that lays the golden egg. When you talk immortality to me, brother, I mean immortality! You’re going to have a long, long, long wait!”
Again Cadwallader bowed his assent. “Mr. Bedeker,” he said, “nothing would please me more!”
Bedeker said, “Then I think you’ve got a deal.”
This time Mr. Cadwallader couldn’t restrain himself from rubbing his hands together. His eyes positively glittered and it struck Bedeker that he was looking at a two-holed opening into a furnace. He could reflect no longer upon this because Mr. Cadwallader reached into the air and pulled out what appeared to be a smoking rubber stamp. This he swung in a wide arc and brought it down on the front page of the document. There was a sizzling sound and the document floated to the floor, burning at the edge. Bedeker could see that on the lower right-hand corner was the imprint of a seal. It looked like a circle with horns in the middle. After a moment the fire went out and the paper lay smoking. Bedeker bent over and picked it up.
“Yes, it seems to be pretty much in order,” Bedeker said. “Now a few other questions, Mr.—”
But the room was empty. He thought he heard the sound of distant laughter retreating into the night, but he wasn’t sure and soon he heard nothing. Bedeker carefully folded the document and shoved it in the dresser drawer. He smiled at himself in the mirror, then went to the window and with an impulsive gesture, he flung it open, letting the cold air rush into the room. He stood
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