"Never saw him before in my life," she said. "Not until he came in this
morning."
"This morning," I said weakly.
While Betty stared at me as though it was _me_ that needed candling by a
head shrinker preparatory to being sent off to a pressure cooker, I
fished in my pocket for my wallet, counted the contents and winced at
the pathetic remains of the thousand. I said pleadingly, "Betty, listen,
how long ago did I go out that door--on the way to the airport?"
"You've been acting sick all morning. You went out that door about ten
minutes ago, were gone about three minutes, and then came back."
* * * * * * * * *
"See here," Mr. Oyster said (interrupting Simon's story), "did you say
this was supposed to be amusing, young man? I don't find it so. In fact,
I believe I am being ridiculed."
Simon shrugged, put one hand to his forehead and said, "That's only the
first chapter. There are two more."
"I'm not interested in more," Mr. Oyster said. "I suppose your point was
to show me how ridiculous the whole idea actually is. Very well, you've
done it. Confound it. However, I suppose your time, even when spent in
this manner, has some value. Here is fifty dollars. And good day, sir!"
He slammed the door after him as he left.
Simon winced at the noise, took the aspirin bottle from its drawer, took
two, washed them down with water from the desk carafe.
Betty looked at him admiringly. Came to her feet, crossed over and took
up the fifty dollars. "Week's wages," she said. "I suppose that's one
way of taking care of a crackpot. But I'm surprised you didn't take his
money and enjoy that vacation you've been yearning about."
"I did," Simon groaned. "Three times."