“In one day? It’s pretty stiff. But we ought to make it by tomorrow... Unless... what’s that ahead, Sam?”
“Car with a flat tire. And... yeah, I see what you mean...”
A hundred feet ahead a yellow convertible was parked at the side of the road. The left rear tire was flat. Surveying it was a girl in a yellow suit that almost matched the color of the car. As they approached Johnny saw that the girl was in her early twenties. She was tall and slender... yet filled out in the right places. Johnny liked her very much. Beside him Sam Cragg whistled softly.
The car had New York license plates.
“Hello,” Johnny greeted the girl. “Shall we change your tire?”
“Why?” the girl asked.
“Because it’s flat...”
“Oh, is it? How observing.”
Johnny grinned. “Right from Times Square!”
“Times Square?”
“Us, too.” Johnny kicked the flat tire. “Sam, take this off.”
“Oh, don’t bother,” said the girl. “Someone will come along...”
“Someone has come along.” Johnny walked around to the far side of the car and, leaning over, reached into the glove compartment for the driver’s registration card. “Helen Walker,” he read. “How do you do? I’m Johnny Fletcher and my friend here is Sam Cragg. Strange — three people from Times Square meeting out here in California.”
“There must be at least fifty thousand people from New York in California,” said the girl. “And about a half million from Iowa.”
“Yes, but Iowans don’t stick together like New Yorkers.” Johnny nodded toward Sam, laboring with the spare tire. “One New Yorker always does a good turn for another... when they meet away from home...”
The girl looked at Johnny, somewhat puzzled. “We’re going to L.A.,” he said, significantly.
She got it, then. Although she made no comment. Sam Cragg took out the jack from under the car and returned it to the luggage compartment, along with the flat tire. He let the door slam down and dusted his hands.
The girl opened the car door. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I never give rides to hitchhikers. It isn’t safe.”
Johnny blinked. “Hitchhikers!”
The girl nodded to Sam Cragg. “Thank you for changing the tire.” She got into the car.
“Wait a minute,” cried Johnny. “You’ve forgotten something!”
Helen Walker turned and looked inquiringly at him.
“Our charge for changing tires is one dollar,” Johnny said, tightly.
She looked at him steadily for a moment, then opened her purse. “Of course. Here’s a dollar... and a quarter for yourself, my good man.”
Johnny took the money. The girl started the car and it jerked away.
Johnny stood looking after it. Sam Cragg came up beside him. “Jeez, Johnny,” he said. “That was pretty raw.
And what about her? ‘I never give rides to hitchhikers.’ ” He muttered something under his breath. “At least we can ride in a bus now.”
Sam brightened a little. “Yeah, I wasn’t so keen on hanging around this neighborhood.”
Chapter Three
Shortly after eleven o’clock that morning Johnny Fletcher and Sam Cragg alighted from a bus on Hollywood Boulevard. Johnny looked up and down the street.
“If you ask me it looks just like Topeka, Kansas. Well — what does your astral guide tell you?”
“I’m afraid to look in the book. Besides — I’m hungry. Why don’t we go to work?”
“Where?”
“You never bothered about that before.” Sam glanced uneasily at his friend. “You’re not losing your grip, are you?”
“Me?” Johnny laughed. “There isn’t a cop in sight, is there?”
“I don’t see any. But you can’t go to work right here on the corner...”
“You challenged me, Sam.” Johnny shook his head in mock injury. “Get ready!”
Sam peeled off his coat and dropped it to the sidewalk. He removed the rope from about the carton.
“Okay!”
Johnny stepped out to the edge of the sidewalk, waved his arms and began talking. He had an astonishing voice for so lean a man. It boomed across the street, was hurled back by the buildings on the other side and arrested the attention of everyone within the block.
“Gentlemen!” he thundered. “And ladies, too. Step closer, please. We’re going to show you one of the most amazing exhibitions of strength it has ever been your privilege to witness. My friend here, Young Samson, is known throughout this country and Europe as the perfect specimen of physical manhood.”
He pointed at Sam who was stripping off his shirt. He had a web belt in one hand. “Look at his rippling muscles, his wonderful physique. Have you ever seen the likes, anywhere — at any time...?”
He lowered his voice to a confidential bellow. “Young Samson is undoubtedly the strongest man that has ever appeared in this town — in the great state of California. He has consented to exhibit himself because I personally asked him to do so, for a reason you’ll learn in a moment... What, gentlemen? Some of you are skeptical? You don’t think he’s as strong as I say? Just a minute, before we go any further. We’ll prove it. Samson!”
Johnny took the web belt from Sam’s hand, put it about Sam’s chest and buckled it. Then he turned back to his audience, now numbering some hundred odd, about half men and the rest women and children.
“Gentlemen, particularly those of you who have seen strong men — you know that one of these belts is strong enough to lift a mule. Have any of you ever seen a man break one? No, of course you haven’t. Well... Samson!”
Sam Cragg, alias Young Samson, let the air out of his lungs. Then he clenched his fists and slowly drew a deep breath. His chest expanded... until the strong belt cut into his skin and flesh...
Then there was a loud “pop” and the belt flew away from Sam Cragg. Johnny scooped it up and held it aloft. “Look closely, gentlemen! Note that it didn’t break at the buckle — but in the exact center. And notice, too, that it wasn’t cut or weakened in any manner... Look!”
Johnny stooped and brought out a length of chain from the carton. He fumbled it, dropping it to the pavement, where it made a resounding clank. He picked it up again.
“Gentlemen!” he roared. “I see your expression of astonishment. I can read your minds. You’re thinking — surely he isn’t going to break that chain. Good heavens, no! A horse couldn’t break it...”
He ran the chain swiftly about Sam’s chest, brought it together in front and linked it securely. Then he stepped away.
“I’m joking, of course,” he informed the crowd. “No human being could break such a chain. But...” He dropped his voice suddenly to a hush that penetrated to the edge of the large audience. Then he took a deep breath and roared. “But suppose he did break that chain! What an amazing, tremendous feat of strength that would be. What a miracle! What?... You people want to see a miracle performed? You want to see Young Samson break the chain? You think he might, just barely might be able to do it?”
He shook his head sadly, looked at Sam Cragg and leaned his head toward his friend. Sam mumbled something. An expression of amazement leaped into Johnny’s eyes.
“He says he can do it!” he cried out. “He’s going to try. And I’m going to let him. Why? Because I know Young Samson better than any living human. I know that he is the strongest man in the entire country! How do I know that? Why...? Because I made him that!”
He paused dramatically for effect, then let his voice roll out — fuller and louder than before. “You think I’m crazy? Well, how about it, Samson? Tell them — did I make you as strong as you are? Weren’t you a mere weakling when you first came to me? Didn’t you weigh a hundred and thirty pounds? Go ahead... tell them!”