I wanted the telephone office rather than a public telephone because I wanted to consult telephone books before making telephone calls—was it my world?
Yes, it was! The office had telephone books for all of Oklahoma and also books from major cities in other states—including a most familiar telephone book for Kansas City, Kansas. "See, Margrethe?" I pointed to the listing for Churches United for Decency, National Office.
"I see."
"Isn't it exciting? Doesn't it make you want to dance and sing?"
"I am very happy for you, Alec."
(She made it sound like: "Doesn't he look natural? And so many lovely flowers.")
We had the alcove where the telephone books were to ourselves. So I whispered urgently, "What's the trouble, dear? This is a happy occasion. Don't you understand? Once I get on that phone we'll have money. No more menial jobs, no more wondering how we will eat or where we will sleep. We'll go straight home by Pullman—no, by dirigible! You'll like that, I know you will! The ultimate in luxury. Our honeymoon, darling—the honeymoon we could never afford."
"You will not take me to Kansas City."
"What do you mean?"
"Alec ... your wife is there."
Believe me when I say that I had not thought once about Abigail in many, many weeks. I had become convinced that I would never see her again (regaining my home world was totally unexpected) and I now had a wife, all the wife any man could ever want: Margrethe.
I wonder if that first shovelful of dirt hits a corpse with the same shock.
I pulled out of it. Some. "Marga, here's what we'll do. Yes, I have a problem, but we can solve it. Of course you go to Kansas City with me! You must. But there, because of Abigail, I must find a quiet place for you to stay while I get things straightened out." (Straightened out? Abigail was going to scream bloody murder.) "First I must get at my money. Then I must see a lawyer." (Divorce? In a state where there was only one legal ground and that one granted divorce only to the injured party? Margrethe the other woman? Impossible. Let Margrethe be exposed in stocks? Be ridden out of town on a rail if Abigail demanded it? Never mind what would be done to me, never mind that Abigail would strip me of every cent—Margrethe must not be subjected to the Scarlet Letter laws of my home world. No!)
"Then we will go to Denmark." (No, it can't be divorce.)
"We will?"
"We will. Darling, you are my wife, now and forever. I can't leave you here while I get things worked out in Kay See; the world might shift and I would lose you. But we can't go to Denmark until I lay hands on my money. All clear?" (What if Abigail has cleaned out my bank account?)
"Yes, Alec. We will go to Kansas City."
(That settled part of it. But it did not settle Abigail. Never mind, I would burn that bridge when I came to it.)
Thirty seconds later I had more problems. Certainly the girl in charge would place a call for me long distance collect. Kansas City? For Kansas City, either Kansas or Missouri, the fee to open the trunk line for query was twenty-five cents. Deposit it in the coin box, please, when I tell you. Booth two.
I went to the booth and dug into my pocket for coins, laid them out:
A twenty-cent piece;
Two threepenny coppers;
A Canadian quarter, with the face of the Queen (queen?);
A half dollar;
Three five-cent pieces that were not nickels, but smaller.
And not one of these coins carried the familiar "God Is Our Fortress" motto of the North American Union.
I stared at that ragbag collection and tried to figure out when this last change had taken place. Since I last was paid evidently, which placed it later than yesterday afternoon but earlier than the hitch we had gotten just after breakfast. While we slept last night? But we had not lost our clothes, had not lost our money. I even had my razor, a lump in my breast pocket.
Never mind—any attempt to understand all the details of these changes led only to madness. The shift had indeed taken place; I was here in my native world . . . and it had left me with no money. With no legal money.
By Hobson's choice, that Canadian quarter looked awfully good. I did not try to tell myself that the Eighth Commandment did not apply to big corporations. Instead I did promise myself that I would pay it back. I picked it up and took the receiver off the hook.
"Number, please."
"Please place a collect call to Churches United fcr Decency in Kansas City, Kansas. The number is State Line 1224J. I'll speak to anyone who answers."
"Deposit twenty-five cents, please." I deposited that Canadian quarter and held my breath—heard it go ting-thunk-thunk. Then Central said, "Thank you. Do not hang up. Please wait."
I waited. And waited. And waited.
"On your Call to Kansas City— Churches United for Decency reports that they do not accept collect calls."
"Hold it! Please tell them that the Reverend Alexander Hergensheimer is calling."
"Thank you. Please deposit twenty-five cents."
"Hey! I didn't get any use out of that first quarter. You hung up too soon."
"We did not disconnect; the party in Kansas City hung up."
"Well, call them back, please, and this time tell them not to hang up."
"Yes, sir. Please deposit twenty-five cents."
"Central, would I be calling collect if I had plenty of change on me? Get them on the line and tell them who I am. Reverend Alexander Hergensheimer, Deputy Executive Director."
"Please wait on the line."
So I waited again. And waited.
"Reverend? The party in Kansas City says to tell you that they do not accept collect calls from—I am quoting exactly—Jesus Christ Himself."
"That's no way to talk on the telephone. Or anywhere."
"I quite agree. There was more. This person said to tell you that he had never heard of you."
"Why, that—" I shut up, as I had no way to express myself within the dignity of the cloth.
"Yes, indeed. I tried to get his name. He hung up on me."
"Young man? Old man? Bass, tenor, baritone?"
"Boy soprano. I gathered an impression that it was the office boy, answering the phone during the lunch hour."
"I see. Well, thank you for your efforts. Above and beyond the call of duty, in my opinion."
"A pleasure, Reverend."
****
I left there, kicking myself. I did not explain to Margrethe until we were clear of the building. "Hoist by my own petard, dear one. I wrote that 'No Collect Calls' order myself. An analysis of the telephone log proved to me beyond any possible doubt that collect calls to our office were never for the benefit of the association. Nine out of ten are begging calls . . . and Churches United for Decency is not a charity. It collects money; it does not give it away. The tenth call is either from a troublemaker or a crank. So I set this firm rule and enforced it . . . and it paid off at once. Saved hundreds of dollars a year just in telephone tolls." I managed to smile. "Never dreamed that I would be caught in my own net."
"What are your plans now, Alec?"
"Now? Get out on Highway Sixty-Six and start waving my thumb. I want us to reach Oklahoma City before five o'clock. It should be easy; it's not very far."
"Yes, sir. Why five o'clock, may I ask?"
"You can always ask anything and you know it. Knock off the Patient Griselda act, sweetheart; you've been moping ever since we saw that dirigible. Because there is a district office of C.U.D. in Oklahoma City and I want to be there before they close. Wait'll you see them roll out the red carpet, hon! Get to Oke City and our troubles are over."
That afternoon reminded me of wading through sorghum. January sorghum. We had no trouble getting rides—but the rides were mostly short distances. We averaged about twenty miles an hour on a highway that permitted sixty miles per hour. We lost fifty-five minutes for a good reason: a free meal. For the umpteenth time a trucker bought us something to eat when he ate . . . for the reason that there is almost no man alive
who can stop to eat, and fail to invite Margrethe to eat if she is there. (Then I get fed, too, simply because I'm her property. I'm not complaining.)
We ate in twenty minutes, then he spent thirty minutes and endless quarters playing pinball machines . . . and I stood there and seethed and Margrethe stood beside him and clapped her hands and squealed when he made a good score. But her social instincts are sound; he then drove us all the rest of the way to Oklahoma City. There he went through town when he could have taken a bypass, and at four-twenty he dropped us at 36th and Lincoln, only two blocks From the C.U.D. district office.
I walked that two blocks whistling. Once I said, "Smile, hon! A month from now—or sooner—we'll eat in the Tivoli."
"Truly?"
"Truly. You've told me so much about it that I can't wait. There's the building!"
Our suite is on the second floor. It warmed the cockles to see the door with lettering on the glass: CHURCHES UNITED FOR DECENCY — Enter.
"After you, my love!" I grabbed the knob, to open for her.
The door was locked.
I banged on it, then spotted a doorbell and rang it. Then I alternated knocking and ringing. And again.
A blackamoor carrying a mop and a pail came down the corridor, started to pass us. I called, "Hey, Uncle! Do you have a key to this suite?"
"Sure don't, Captain. Ain't nobody in there now. They most generally locked up and gone by four o'clock."
"I see. Thanks."
"A pleasure, Captain."
Out on the street again, I grinned sheepishly at Margrethe. "Red carpet treatment. Closing at four. When the cat is away, the mice will play. Some heads will roll, I promise you. I can't think of another cliché to fit the situation. Oh, yes, I can. Beggars can't be choosers. Madam, would you like to sleep in the park tonight? Warm night, no rain expected. Chiggers and mosquitoes, no extra charge."
We slept in Lincoln Park, on the golf course, on a green that was living velvet—alive with chiggers.
It was a good night's sleep despite chiggers. We got up when the first early golfers showed up, and we got off the golf course with nothing worse than dirty looks. We made use of public washrooms in the park, and rejoined much neater, feeling fresher, me with a fresh shave, and both of us filled with free water for breakfast. On the whole I felt cheerful. It was too early to expect those self-appointed playboys at C.U.D. to show up, so, when we ran across a policeman, I asked the location of the public library, then I added, "By the way, where is the airport?"
"The what?"
"The dirigible flying field."
The cop turned to Margrethe. "Lady, is he sick?"
****
I did feel sick a half hour later when I checked the directory in the building we had visited the afternoon before ... I felt sick but unsurprised to find no Churches United for Decency among its tenants. But to make certain I walked up to the second floor. That suite was now occupied by an insurance firm.
"Well, dear, let's go to the public library. Find out what kind of world we are in."
"Yes, Alec." She was looking cheerful. "Dearest, I'm sorry you are disappointed . . . but I am so relieved. I— I was frightened out of my wits at the thought of meeting your wife."
"You won't. Not ever. Promise. Uh, I'm sort of relieved, too. And hungry."
We walked a few more steps. "Alec. Don't be angry."
"I'll do no more than give you a fat lip. What is it?"
"I have five quarters. Good ones."
"At this point I am supposed to say, 'Daughter, were you a good girl in Philadelphy?' Out with it. Whom did you kill? Much blood?"
"Yesterday. Those pinball games. Every time Harry won free games he gave me a quarter. 'For luck,' he said."
I decided not to beat her. Of course they were not "good quarters" but they turned out to be good enough. Good enough, that is, to fit coin machines. We had passed a penny arcade; such places usually have coin-operated food dispensers and this one did. The prices were dreadfully high—fifty cents for a skimpy stale sandwich; twenty-five cents for a bare mouthful of chocolate. But it was better than some breakfasts we had had on the road. And we certainly did not steal, as the quarters from my world were real silver.
Then we went to the public library to find out what sort of world we must cope with now.
We found out quickly:
Marga's world.
XX
The wicked flee when no man pursueth: but the righteous are bold as a lion.
Proverbs 28:1
****
MARGRETHE WAS AS elated as I had been the day before. She bubbled, she smiled, she looked sixteen. I looked around for a private place—back of book stacks or somewhere—where I could kiss her without worrying about a proctor. Then I remembered that this was Margrethe's world where nobody cared . . . and grabbed her where she stood and bussed her properly.
And got scolded by a librarian.
No, not for what I had done, but because we had been somewhat noisy about it. Public kissing did not in itself disturb that library's decorum. Hardly. I noticed, while I was promising to keep quiet and apologizing for the breach, a display rack by that librarian's desk:
New Titles
INSTRUCTIONAL PORNOGRAPHY —
Ages 6 to 12
Fifteen minutes later I was waving my thumb again on Highway 77 to Dallas.
Why Dallas? A law firm: O'Hara, Rigsbee, Crumpacker, and Rigsbee.
As soon as we were outside the library, Marga had started talking excitedly about how she could now end our troubles: her bank account in Copenhagen.
I said, "Wait a minute, darling. Where's your checkbook? Where's your identification?"
What it came to was that Margrethe could possibly draw on her assets in Denmark after several days at a highly optimistic best or after several weeks at a more probable estimate . . . and that even the longer period involved quite a bit of money up front for cablegrams. Telephone across the Atlantic? Marga did not think such a thing existed. (And even if it did, I thought it likely that cablegrams were cheaper and more certain.)
Even after all arrangements had been made, it was possible that actual payment might involve postal delivery from Europe—in a world that had no airmail.
So we headed for Dallas, I having assured Marga that, at the very worst, Alec Graham's lawyers would advance Alec Graham enough money to get him (us) off the street, and, with luck, we would come at once into major assets.
(Or they might fail to recognize me as Alec Graham and prove that I was not he—by fingerprints, by signature, by something—and thereby lay the ghost of "Alec Graham" in Margrethe's sweet but addled mind. But I did not mention this to Margrethe.)
It is two hundred miles from Oklahoma City to Dallas; we arrived there at 2 p.m., having picked up a ride at the intersection of 66 and 77, and kept it clear into the Texas metropolis. We were dropped where 77 crosses 80 at the Trinity River, and we walked to the Smith Building; it took us half an hour.
The receptionist in suite 7000
looked like something out of the sort of stage show that C.U.D has spent much time and money to suppress. She was dressed but not very much, and her makeup was what Marga calls "high style." She was nubile and pretty and, with my newly learned toleration, I simply enjoyed the sinful sight. She smiled and said, "May I help you?"
"This is a fine day for golf. Which of the partners is still in the office?"
"Only Mr. Crumpacker, I'm afraid."
"He's the one I want to see."
"And whom shall I say is calling?"
(First hurdle— I missed it. Or did she?) "Don't you recognize me?"
"I'm sorry. Should I?"
"How long have you been working here?"
"Just over three months."
"That accounts for it. Tell Crumpacker that Alec Graham is here."
I could not hear what Crumpacker said to her but I was watching her eyes; I think they widened—I feel sure of it. But ail she said was, "Mr. Crumpacker will see you." T
hen she turned to Margrethe. "May I offer you a magazine while you wait? And would you like a reefer?"
I said, "She's coming with me."
"But—"
"Come along, Marga." I headed quickly for the inner offices.
Crumpacker's door was easy to find; it was the one with the squawking issuing from it. This shut off as I opened the door and held it for Margrethe. As I followed her in, he was saying, "Miss, you'll have to wait outside!"
"No," I denied, as I closed the door behind me. "Mrs. Graham stays."
He looked startled. "Mrs. Graham?"
"Surprised you, didn't I? Got married since I saw you last. Darling, this is Sam Crumpacker, one of my attorneys." (I had picked his first name off his door.)
"How do you do, Mr. Crumpacker?"
"Uh, glad to meet you, Mrs. Graham. Congratulations. Congratulations to you, Alec—you always could pick 'em."
I said, "Thanks. Sit down, Marga."
"Just a moment, folks! Mrs. Graham can't stay—really she can't! You know that."
"I know no such thing. This time I'm going to have a witness." No, I did not know that he was crooked. But I had learned long ago, in dealing with legislators, that anyone who tries to keep you from having a witness is bad news. So C.U.D. always had witnesses and always stayed within the law; it was cheaper that way.
Marga was seated; I sat down beside her. Crumpacker had jumped up when we came in; he remained standing. His mouth worked nervously. "I ought to call the Federal prosecutor."
"Do that," I agreed. "Pick up the phone there and call him. Let's both of us go see him. Let's tell him everything. With witnesses. Let's call in the press. All of the press, not just the tame cats."
(What did I know? Nothing. But when it's necessary to bluff, always bluff big. I was scared. This rat could turn and fight like a cornered mouse—a rabid one.)
"I should."
"Do it, do it! Let's name names, and tell who did what and who got paid. I want to get everything out into the open . . . before somebody slips cyanide into my soup."
"Don't talk that way."
"Who has a better right? Who pushed me overboard? Who?"
"Don't look at me!"
"No, Sammie, I don't think you did it; you weren't there. But it could be your godson. Eh?" Then I smiled my biggest fight-hand-of-fellowship smile. "Just joking, Sam. My old friend would not want me dead. But you can tell me some things and help me out. Sam, it's not convenient to be dumped way off on the other side of the world—so you owe me." (No, I still knew nothing . . . nothing save the evident fact that here was a man with a guilty conscience—so crowd him.)
Job: A Comedy Page 24