The Very Best of F & SF v1 Read Online Free PDF Page B

coming from Mr. Johnson, anything but the statement of a responsible and
truthful and respectable man.
    “What do you mean?” she asked.
    “I said that
since I am obviously responsible for your being late I shall certainly pay for
it.”
    “Don’t be silly,”
she said, and for the first time the frown disappeared. “ I wouldn’t
expect you to pay for anything—a few minutes ago I was offering to pa y you. Anyway,” she added,
almost smiling, “it was my fault.”
    “What happens if
you don’t go to work?”
    She stared. “I
don’t get paid.”
    “Precisely,” said
Mr. Johnson.
    “What do you
mean, precisely? If I don’t show up at the office exactly twenty minutes ago I
lose a dollar and twenty cents an hour, or two cents a minute or...” She
thought. “...Almost a dime for the time I’ve spent talking to you.”
    Mr. Johnson
laughed, and finally she laughed, too. “You’re late already,” he pointed out. “Will
you give me another four cents worth?”
    “I don’t
understand why.”
    “You’ll see,” Mr.
Johnson promised. He led her over to the side of the walk, next to the
buildings, and said, “Stand here,” and went out into the rush of people going
both ways. Selecting and considering, as one who must make a choice involving
perhaps whole years of lives, he estimated the people going by. Once he almost
moved, and then at the last minute thought better of it and drew back. Finally,
from half a block away, he saw what he wanted, and moved out into the center of
the traffic to intercept a young man, who was hurrying, and dressed as though
he had awakened late, and frowning.
    “Oof,” said the
young man, because Mr. Johnson had thought of no better way to intercept anyone
than the one the young woman had unwittingly used upon him, “Where do you think
you’re going?” the young man demanded from the sidewalk.”
    “I want to speak
to you,” said Mr. Johnson ominously.
    The young man
got up nervously, dusting himself and eyeing Mr. Johnson. “What for?” he said. “What’d I do?”
    “That’s what
bothers me most about people nowadays,” Mr. Johnson complained broadly to the
people passing. “No matter whether they’ve done anything or not, they always
figure someone’s after them. About what you’re going to do,” he told the young
man.
    “Listen,” said
the young man, trying to brush past him, “I’m late, and I don’t have any time
to listen. Here’s a dime, now get going.”
    “Thank you,” said
Mr. Johnson, pocketing the dime. “Look,” he said, “what happens if you stop running?”
    “I’m late,” said
the young man, still trying to get past Mr. Johnson, who was unexpectedly
clinging.
    “How much you
make an hour?” Mr. Johnson demanded.
    “A communist,
are you?” said the young man. “Now will you please let me—”
    “No,” said Mr.
Johnson insistently, “ how much?”
    “Dollar fifty,” said
the young man. “And now will you—”
    “You like
adventure?”
    The young man
stared, and, staring, found himself caught and held by Mr. Johnson’s genial
smile; he almost smiled back and then repressed it and made an effort to tear
away. “I got to hurry” he said.
    “Mystery? Like
surprises? Unusual and exciting events?”
    “You selling
something?”
    “Sure,” said Mr.
Johnson. “You want to take a chance?”
    The young man
hesitated, looked longingly up the avenue toward what might have been his
destination and then, when Mr. Johnson said, “ I’ll pay for it,” with his
own peculiar convincing emphasis, turned and said, “Well, okay. But I got to see it first, what I’m
buying.”
    Mr. Johnson,
breathing hard, led the young man over to the side where the girl was standing;
she had been watching with interest Mr. Johnson’s capture of the young man and
now, smiling timidly, she looked at Mr. Johnson as though prepared to be
surprised at nothing.
    Mr. Johnson
reached into his pocket and took out his wallet. “Here,” he said, and