“Rub?”
“Gimmick. Gimmick. What’s the gimmick?”
“Eh?”
This guy was a rube. “I mean, what do I have to do to get the job?”
“Oh. You don’t have to do anything. Simply sign this.”
He handed me a sheet of paper. I looked at it. Some kind of contract
no doubt--and again I frowned. Long legalities always confused me. But
here, happily, there only were a few lines, and I scanned them rapidly.
I hereby agree to accept the job which my agent, Quontas Quoron, has
for me, and I further agree that the location of the position is of
no consequence. It is understood, of course, that Quontas Quoron and
his brother will provide means of transportation.