Now, son, there's a million things that make people unhappy. Given
half the night, I could maybe list a couple of hundred. But to narrow
it down to one or two, I couldn't do it. So I just shook my head and
let Joe carry the ball.
"It's a complex world, Harry. A lot of people never adjust to it. Some
of them turn the tables and try to adjust the world to them, which
makes a lot of other people unhappy. No, I'd say there's a certain
number of people who just don't fit in this world of ours. Maybe at a
different time and on another world, they might fit. But they don't
fit on this one, not right here and now."
* * * * *
That was a way of looking at it that I had never thought of before.
And Joe had a point. Now you take old Barney Muhlenberg, the town
drunk. I knew Barney when he was a boy, and a more sober,
adventure-seeking young rascal you never saw. But by then all the
frontiers had dried up, it was between wars, and the only adventure
Barney could find was in the bottom of a bottle. Barney was one of
those poor folks born fifty years too late.
Or you take Miss Alice Markey, the history teacher at Fremont High.
She's an old spinster--frail, white-haired, and a little bit crabby
now. You'd never believe it but she used to be the romantic type.
Somehow, the right man just never came along, but she's never given up
hoping either.
Sure, you wouldn't believe it to look at them. But that's how people
are, down underneath. All dreams and wishful thinking.
"It's tough, Joe," I says, "but what can you do about it?"
It always seemed to me that you weren't going to help people by
letting them fall asleep on a couch at fifty dollars a nap and trying
to convince them they should give up their dreams.
"You've got to give people something _positive_!" Joe says, hitting an
end table with his fist so an ashtray jumps off.
I sat up and began to take notice. Once Joe had an idea, he usually
did something about it.
"You got something in mind," I accused.
He stopped pacing and pointed his pipe at me like it was the working
end of a twenty-two rifle. "I got an idea, Harry," he says, the genius
showing in his eyes like the dollar signs in a cash register. "I'm
going to make a machine during my vacation and...."
And then Marge is in the doorway, dishtowel in her hand and little
anger spots in her cheeks. "Joseph Shannon!" she says, stamping her
foot. "You know perfectly well what we're going to do and where we're
going to go on your vacation!"
Joe's mouth got set and I could see a storm blowing up so I struggled
to my feet and got my hat. "That was awful nice chili, Missus
Shannon," I says, and it isn't much more than two seconds later when
I'm out the front door and walking up the sidewalk.
* * * * *
Well, Joe--stubborn Irishman that he was--stayed right in town during
his vacation. He had a laboratory in the basement and every day when I
went by I could hear him and Wally Claus, his assistant, working down
there, hammering and nailing and running electric motors that spat
sparks and whined worse'n two alley cats fightin' in a fish market.
On the day that it's finished, Joe invites me over for dinner again.
After the meal's over--and Joe's so anxious that he don't even tell
Marge how nice the tuna fish casserole was--we go down into the
basement. Marge doesn't come along.
"What's the matter with Marge?" I ask. "Ain't she interested?"
Joe jams his hands in his pockets, scowls, and says: "We've been
having a little trouble, Harry. She doesn't see things my way."
It isn't any of my business so I clam up and walk over to where the
whole front half of the basement is curtained off with a couple of old
sheets and a drawstring.
"This is it," Joe says proudly, pulling on the drawstring. "The
greatest invention since the wheel!"
Well, to tell you the truth, son, I was kinda disappointed. I had
expected something big and shiny but what there was looked a little
like a cross between a phone booth and one of those things in train
stations where you take your own photograph. I looked inside and all I
could see was a big screen in front, like on a television set, a coin
slot, and a funny looking hat with a cable leading out of it.
"It's real nice," I says, not actually knowing whether it was or not.
"What is it?"
"I call it a _Paradise_ booth," Joe says.
I took another look at the machine, and then looked at Joe. It occurs
to me that maybe he's been working too hard or that arguments with
Marge have sorta unsettled him.
"Look, Harry," Joe says, "remember when we were talking about all the
people who didn't fit in this world?"
"Sure I remember," I says. "What's this got to do with it?"
"What if people could choose the type of world they wanted to live
in?"