The Magic Christian Read Online Free PDF Page A

angry little spitz.
    She came forward, herself not too unlike her charge, waddling aggressively, and she was immediately followed by several other women of similar stamp, along with Pekineses, Pomeranians, and ill-tempered miniature chows.
    Gonzales bowed with winning old-world grace and caressed the ladies’ hands.
    “What a perfect love he is!” shrieked Mrs. Winthrop-Garde of the animal on Gonzales’s leash, and turning to her own, “Isn’t he, my darling? Hmm? Htnm? Isn’t he, my precious sweet? And whatever is his name?” she cried to Gonzales when her own animal failed to respond, but yapped crossly instead.
    “He is called . . . Claw,” said Gonzales with a certain soft drama which may have escaped Mrs. Winthrop-Garde, for she rushed on, heedless as ever.
    “Claude! It’s too delicious—the perfect darling! Say hello to Claude, Angelica! Say hello to Claude, my fur-flower!”
    And as she pulled the angry little spitz forward, while it snapped and snorted and ran at the nose, an extraordinary thing happened—for what this Grand and Gonzales had somehow contrived, and for reasons never fathomed by the press, was to introduce in disguise to the Garden show that season not a dog at all, but some kind of terrible black panther or dyed jaguar—hungry he was too, and cross as a pickle—so that before the day was out, he had not only brought chaos into the formal proceedings, but had actually destroyed about half the “Best of Breed.”
    During the first hour or so, Gonzales, because of his respected position in that circle, was above reproach, and all of the incidents were considered as being accidental, though, of course, extremely unfortunate.
    “Too much spirit,” he kept explaining, frowning and shaking his head; and, as he and the beast stalked slowly about in the midst of the group, he would chide the monster-cat:
    “Overtired from the trip, I suppose. Isn’t that it, boy? Hmm? Hmm?”
    So now occasionally above the yapping and whining, the crowd would hear a strange swish! and swat! as Gonzales and the fantastic beast moved on, flushing them one by one.
    Finally one woman, new to the circle, who did not know how important Gonzales was, came back with an automatic pistol and tried to shoot the big cat. But she was so beside herself with righteous fury that she missed and was swiftly arrested.
    Gonzales, though, apparently no fool himself, was quick to take this as a cue that his work was done, and he gradually retired, so that “Best in Show” was settled at last, between those not already eliminated.
    Grand later penned a series of scathing articles about the affair: “Scandal of the Dog Show!” “Can This Happen Here?” “Is It Someone’s Idea of a Joke?” etc., etc.
    The bereft owners were wealthy and influential people, more than eager to go along with the demand for an inquiry. As quickly as witnesses were uncovered, however, they were bought off by Grand or his representatives, so that nothing really ever came of it in the end—though, granted, it did cost him a good bit to keep his own name clear.

VI
    “A ND HOW WAS your trip, Guy?” asked Ginger Horton, sniffing a bit, just to be on the safe side it seemed.
    Guy shrugged.
    “Oh, same old six-and-seven, Ginger,” he said.
    “I beg your pardon,” interjected his Aunt Agnes smartly.
    Esther beamed, truly in league at last with her long-dead favorite sister’s only son.
    “It means not too good, Agnes,” she said emphatically. “It’s an expression used in dice-playing: You ‘come out’—isn’t that right, Guy?—on ‘six,’ your point, then you throw, in this case, a ‘seven’ which means: no good, you lose.” She looked to her Guy. “That’s it, isn’t it, dear?”
    “Oh, it’s a gambling expression,” said Agnes Edwards with a certain amused complacency, though she must have raised her cup rather too hurriedly, for Esther was content merely to beam at Guy.
    “Then your trip wasn’t . . . too good, is that