It was a long ride.
Willie apologetically took out a magazine as soon as they settled down in the car. "You know what Great-Great-Grand-daddy Rufus said, 'Charles, Happy is he who has laid up in his youth, and held fast in all fortune, a genuine and passionate love for reading.' I always like to—"
"Sure, Willie," said Mundin. "Look, what's all this?"
Willie smiled regretfully. "Of course," he explained, "he wasn't my real Great-Great-Granddaddy; Granpap just kind of took that name when he bought into the firm. It's just a way of—"
Mundin said urgently, "Willie, please. Remember how it was in law school?"
Willie seemed about to cry. "Gee, Charles! What can I say?"
"You can tell me what this is all about!"
Willie looked at Mundin. Then he looked all around him, at Norma, at the fittings of the car. Then he looked at Mundin again. The implication was unmistakable.
"At least tell me what your connection is," Mundin begged.
"Gee, Charles!" But the answer to that one, at least, was plain, written in those soft cow's eyes, spelled out in that trembling lip. Willie was what God had made him to be: an errand boy, and doubtless knew little more than Mundin about what, why, or wherefore. Mundin gave up and let Willie read his magazine, while he stared morosely at the crumbled city they were driving through.
The building smelled old. Mundin and Norma and Willie stepped into a creaking elevator and slowly went up fifty floors. A long walk, and then another elevator, even smaller, even creakier.
Then a small room with a hard bench. Willie left them there; all he said was "See you."
Then—waiting. An hour, then several hours. They didn't talk.
Mundin thought he was going to flip.
Then he thought that that was what Green, Charlesworth wanted him to think, and got a grip on himself.
And by and by a small, quiet man came and led them into another room.
There was no place to sit, and no place for Mundin to hang his coat. Mundin draped his coat over his arm, and stood, staring back into the unblinking eyes of the man seated at the desk. He was an imposing figure of a man, lean-featured, dark-haired, temples shot with silver. He leaned forward, comfortably appraising; his chin was in one cupped hand, the fingers covering his lips. His eyes followed Mundin, and his chest rhythmically rose and fell; otherwise he was stock-still.
Mundin cleared his throat. "Mr.—ah—Green?" he inquired.
The man said emotionlessly, "We despise you, Mr. Mundin. We are going to destroy you."
Mundin cried, "Why?"
"You are Rocking the Boat, Mundin," the man said through his fingers, the piercing eyes locked with Mundin's own.
Mundin cleared his throat "Look, Mr. Green—you are Mr. Green?"
"You are Our Enemy, Mundin."
"Now, wait a minute!" Mundin took a deep breath. Please, he silently begged his adrenal gland. Gently! he ordered the pounding sensation in his skull. He said temperately, "I'm sure we can get together, Mr.—sir. After all, we're not greedy."
The figure said steadily, "Men Like You would Ruin the World if we let them. We won't."
Mundin swept his eyes hopelessly around the room. This man was obviously mad; someone else, anyone else— But there was no one. Barring the desk and the man, there was nothing in the room but a pair of milky, glassy cabinets and Mundin and the girl. He said, "Look, did you call me down here just to insult me?"
"You put your Fingers in the Buzz-Saw, Mundin. They will be Lopped Off."
"Insane," Norma murmured faintly.
"Dammittohell!" Mundin yelled. He hurled his coat violently to the floor, but it did nothing to calm him. "If you're crazy say so and let me get out of here! I never came across such blithering idiocy in my life!"
He stopped in the middle of a beginning tirade; stopped short.
The man wasn't looking at him any more. The same unblinking and unwavering gaze that had been on Mundin was now piercingly directed at the coat on the floor. To the coat the motionless man said, "We brought you here, Mundin, to See Infamy with Our Own Eyes. Now we have seen it and we will Blot It Out." And then, startlingly, shrilly, "Hee!"
Mundin swallowed and stepped gingerly forward. Three paces and he was at the desk, leaning over, looking at what should be the neatly tailored trousers of the man's modest suit.
The personnel of Green, Charlesworth were not wearing trousers this year. The personnel of Green, Charlesworth were wearing bronze pedestals with thick black cables snaking out of them, and brass nameplates that read:
WESTERN ELECTRIC SLEEPLESS RECEPTIONIST
115 Volt A.C. Only
"Hee!" shrilled the motionless lips, just by Mundin's ear. "That's far enough, Mundin. You were right, I suppose, Mrs. Green."
Mundin leaped back as though the 115 volts of A.C. had passed through his tonsils. A flicker of light caught his eye; the two milky glass cabinets had lighted up. He looked, peripherally aware that Norma had crumpled beside him.
He wished he hadn't.
The contents of the cabinets were: Green and Charlesworth. Green, an incredibly, impossibly ancient dumpy-looking, hairless female. Charlesworth, an incredibly, impossibly ancient string-bean-looking, hairless male. Mercifully, the lights flickered out.
Another voice said, but from the same motionless lips, "Can we kill him, Mr. Charlesworth?"
"I think not, Mrs. Green," the Sleepless Receptionist answered itself in the first voice.
Mundin said forcefully, "Now, wait a minute." It was pure reflex. He came to the end of the sentence, and stopped.
The female voice said sadly, "Perhaps he will commit suicide, Mr. Charlesworth. Tell him what he is up against."
"He knows what he is up against, Mrs. Green. Don't you, Mundin?"
Mundin nodded. He was obsessed by the Sleepless Receptionist's eyes, now piercingly aimed at him again—attracted, perhaps, by the movement.
"Tell him!" shrieked Mrs. Green. 'Tell him about that girl! Tell him what well do to her!"
"A Daughter of Evil," the voice said mechanically. "She wants to take G.M.L. away from us."
Mundin was galvanized. "Oh, no!" he cried. "Not you! Just Arnold and his crowd!"
"Are Our Fingers Us?" the voice demanded. "Are Our Arms and Legs Us? Arnold is Us!"
The female voice piped, "The girl, Mr. Charlesworth. The girl!"
"Painted courtesan," observed the male voice. "She wants to free the slaves, she says. Talks about Mr. Lincoln!"
"We Fixed Mr. Lincoln's Wagon, Mr. Charlesworth," chortled the female voice.
"We did, Mrs. Green. And we will Fix Her Wagon too."
Mundin, thinking dazedly that he should have been more careful where he put Ryan's yen pox, it was stupid of him to get it mixed up with his vitamin pills, said feebly, "Are you that old?"
"Are we that old, Mrs. Green?" asked the male voice.
"Are we!" shrilled the female. "Tell him! Tell him about the girl!"
"Perhaps not now, Mrs. Green. Perhaps later. When we have softened them up. You must go now, Mundin."
Mundin automatically picked up his coat and helped Norma to her feet. He turned dazedly to the door. Halfway he stopped, staring at the milky glass. Glass, he thought. Glass, and quivering, moving corpses inside, that a breath of air might—
'Try it, Mundin," challenged the voice. "We wanted to see if you would try it."
Mundin thought, and decided against it
'Too bad," said the voice of Charlesworth. "We hate you, Mundin. You said we were not God Almighty." "Atheist!" hissed the voice of Mrs. Green.
Chapter Twenty-Two