Well, there was that funny thing Resnik said the day he died, about how the world conspired against anybody who'd ever done anything. And then he said, "I'm not even sure it's this world."
I figured out what the joke was-that is, if it was a joke. I mean, just for a hypothesis, suppose Somebody didn't want us to get ahead as fast as we could, Somebody from another world.
That's silly. That is, I think it's silly.
But if that line of thinking isn't silly, then it must be something quite the opposite of silly; by which I mean it must be dangerous. Just recently, I've almost been run over twice by crazy drivers in front of my own house. And then there's the air taxi I missed and saw crash on take-off before my eyes.
Just for the fun of it, there are two things I'd like to know. One is where the foundation gets its money and why. The other-and I just might see if I can get an answer to this one, next time I'm in L. A.-is whether there really were a pair of honeymooners in room 2051 that morning, to be accidentally awakened by Laszlo Ramos just about the time that Larry was on his way down twenty flights.
The Richest Man in Levittown
MARGERY tried putting the phone back on the hook, but it immediately rang again. She kicked the stand, picked up the phone and said: "Hang up, will you? We don't want any!" She slammed the phone down to break the connection and took it off the hook again.
The doorbell rang.
"My turn," I said, and put down the paper-it looked as though I never would find out what the National League standings were. It was Patrolman Gamelsfelder.
"Man to see you, Mr. Binns. Says it's important." He was sweating-you could see the black patches on his blue shirt. I knew what he was thinking . We had air conditioning and money, and he was risking his life day after day for a lousy policeman's pay, and what kind of a country was this anyhow? He'd said as much that afternoon.
"It might be important to him, but I don't want to see anybody. Sorry, officer." I closed the door.
Margery said: "Are you or are you not going to help me change the baby?"
I said cheerfully: "I'll be glad to, dear." And it was true-besides being good policy to say that, since she was pretty close to exploding. It was true because I wanted something to do myself. I wanted some nice, simple, demanding task like holding a one-year-old down with my knee in the middle of his chest, while one hand held his feet and the other one pinned the diaper. I mean, it was nice of Uncle Otto to leave me the money, but did they have to put it in the paper?
The doorbell rang again as I was finishing. Margery was upstairs with Gwennie, who took a lot of calming down because she'd had an exciting day, and because she always did, so I stood the baby on his fat little feet and answered the door myself. It was the policeman again. "Some telegrams for you, Mr. Binns. I wouldn't let the boy deliver them."
"Thanks." I tossed them in the drawer of the telephone stand. What was the use of opening them? They were from people who had heard about Uncle Otto and the money, and who wanted to sell me something.
"That fellow's still here," Patrolman Gamelsfelder said sourly. "I think he's sick."
"Too bad." I tried to close the door.
"Anyway, he says to tell Cuddles that Tinker is here."
I grabbed the door. "Tell Cud. . ."
"That's what he said." Gamelsfelder saw that that hit me, and it pleased him. For the first time he smiled.
"What-what's his name?"
"Winston McNeely McGhee," said Officer Gamelsfelder happily, "or anyway that's what he told me, Mr. Binns."
I said, "Send the son of a- Send the fellow in," I said, and jumped to get the baby away from the ashtray where Margery had left a cigarette burning. Winnie McGhee-it was all I needed to finish off my day.
He came in holding his head as though it weighed a thousand pounds. He was never what you'd call healthy-looking, even when Margery stood me up at the altar in order to elope with him. It was his frail, poetic charm, and maybe he still had that, and maybe he didn't, but the way he looked to me, he was sick, all right. He looked like he weighed a fast hundred pounds not counting the head; the head looked like a balloon. He moaned, "Hello, Harlan, age thirty-one, five-eleven, one seventy-three. You got an acetylsalicylic acid tablet?"
I said, "What?" But he didn't get a chance to answer right away because there was a flutter and a scurry from the expansion attic and Margery appeared at the head of the stairs. "I thought-" she began wildly, and then she saw that her wildest thought was true. "You!" She betrayed pure panic-fussing with her hair with one hand and smoothing her Bermuda shorts with the other, simultaneously trying to wiggle, no-hands, out of the sloppy old kitchen apron that had been good enough for me.
McGhee said pallidly, "Hello. Please, don't you have an acetylsalicylic acid tablet?"
"I don't know what it is," I said simply.
Margery chuckled ruefully. "Ah, Harlan, Harlan," she said with fond tolerance, beaming lovingly at me as she came down the stairs. It was enough to turn the stomach of a cat.
"You forget, Winnie. Harlan doesn't know much chemistry. Won't you find him an aspirin, Harlan? That's all he wants."
"Thanks," said Winnie with a grateful sigh, massaging his temples.
I went and got him an aspirin. I thought of adding a little mixer to the glass of water that went with it, but there wasn't anything in the medicine chest that looked right, and besides it's against the law. I don't mind admitting it, I never liked Winnie McGhee, and it isn't just because he swiped my bride from me. Well, she smartened up after six months, and then, when she turned up with an annulment and sincere repentance-well, I've never regretted marrying her. Or anyway, not much. But you can't expect me to like McGhee. My heavens, if I'd never seen the man before I'd hate his little purple guts on first contact, because he looks like a poet and talks like a scientist and acts like a jerk.
I started back to the living room and yelled: "The baby!"
Margery turned away from simpering at her former husband and sprang for the puppy's dish. She got it away from the baby, but not quite full. There was a good baby-sized mouthful of mixed milk and dog-biscuit that she had to excavate for, and naturally the baby had his way of counter-attacking for that.
"No bite!" she yelled, pulling her finger out of his mouth and putting it in hers. Then she smiled sweetly. "Isn't he a darling, Winnie? He's got his daddy's nose, of course. But don't you think he has my eyes?"
"He'll have your fingers too, if you don't keep them out of his mouth," I told her.
Winnie said: "That's normal. After all, with twenty-four paired chromosomes forming the gamete, it is perfectly obvious that the probability of inheriting none of his traits from one parent-that is, being exactly like the other-is one chance in 8,388,608. Ooh, my head."
Margery gave him a small frown. "What?"
He was like a wound-up phonograph. "That's without allowance for spontaneous mutation," he added. "Or induced. And considering the environmental factors in utero-that is, broad-spectrum antibiotics, tripling of the background radiation count due to nuclear weapons, dietary influences, et cetera-yes, I should put the probability of induced mutation rather high. Yes. Perhaps of the order of-"
I interrupted. "Here's your aspirin. Now, what do you want?"
"Harlan!" Margery said warningly.
"I mean-well, what do you want?"
He leaned his head on his hands. "I want you to help me conquer the world," he said.
Crash-splash. "Go get a mop!" Margery ordered; the baby had just spilled the puppy's water. She glared at me and smiled at Winnie. "Go ahead," she coaxed. "Take your nice aspirin, and we'll talk about your trip around the world later."