Politics and Journalism, thought George. How ironic. The two often went hand-in-hand to support one another, or they worked from opposite poles in a tug of war. In any case, hand-in-hand or as opposites that attract, he was sure they had much in common. George was determined to find out how much.
As they gathered their books and collected their litter, George asked if they might meet again for lunch the next day. She didn’t answer, but she didn’t say No; only gave him a long look and pretty Mona Lisa smile she walked away toward the English building.
****
“Oh, sir?” George was awakened from his reverie by Miss Agnes motioning to him from the counter. “Your breakfast is ready.” He paid for the meal with his last bit of change.
“Sir,” she said as he turned to go back to the table. “Don’t forget your Bonanza Game coupon. You could win.”
George took the small card from her. “Now what’s this?” he muttered to himself as he sat down. He looked at the card absently and tossed it on the table.
George wolfed down the breakfast without noticing the pancakes were a little soggy, the scrambled eggs dry and too scrambled. All he knew was it was filling and soon he felt better. Several other breakfasters came in while he ate. He barely heard them order: Happy Pancakes, eggs, sausage, etc.
Finally he lost interest in the cold plate before him, and found himself staring at the contest coupon. He picked it up and turned it over. There was a square black patch on the back side.
The counter girl leaned over his shoulder to refill his cup.
“Yes, sir. You just rub the coating off the black window there,’ she instructed.
“Like this?” he asked as he began to rub his thumb over the area she indicated.
“Yes. See, it’s starting to come off.”
He could see that his thumb was beginning to turn black as he rubbed. Suddenly a dollar sign appeared, followed by the numeral three.
The girl leaned in closer. “Sir, I think you’ve won something!” she exclaimed with mounting excitement. People around them stopped eating and turned to stare.
Then, as George rubbed, a zero was uncovered. He kept rubbing--then another and another...until George and the girl could plainly see a dollar sign, a three, and three zeros.
The waitress squealed. “Ooooooh, hot damn, sir! But it can’t be! Why we’ve never had a...wait here...don’t go away. Let me get the manager!”
George continued to rub as the girl ran to the back of the restaurant. Several of the Happy Pancake customers came over to watch. Perspiration broke out on George’s forehead as he worked. Finally, he stopped and looked again. All the black was gone; transferred to George’s thumb and fingers. But there, in a neat red frame on the card, George, as well as those standing behind him, could clearly read:
YOU HAVE JUST WON THE $3,000 BREAKFAST BONANZA--CONGRATULATIONS!
People crowded closer to make sure. Then they gave a hoot and a holler,clapped George on the back and congratulated him. The winner sat staring silently at the card. He didn’t hear the commotion going on around him. Across his mind flickered the image of a dapper little man in green with a red beard. He also saw visions of Lydia with the baby in her arms.
At length, the breakfasters quieted down, rushed back to their tables and began to rub off their own coupons. There were a lot of disappointed groans in the now crowded room, but from one corner, someone yelled:
“Hey! I won ten bucks!”
“Be with you in a moment, Sir,” came a new voice from the back of the Happy Pancake.
A sandy-haired, freckled- faced young man was being practically dragged to George’s table by Miss Agnes.
“Look! Look for yourself, Mr. Kelly.”
The newcomer leaned over George’s shoulder and studied the card for a moment.
“Well, golleeee! You’re right Aggie. He’s won the big one all right. Congratulations, Sir!” Freckles grabbed George's free hand and pumped it vigorously. “Boy, wait ‘til they hear about this downtown. You’re our first big winner!”
George looked half dazed as he turned toward the manager who was now shoving some papers in front of him.
George was used to filling out forms and now he signed right on the dotted line.
“And this form is a release so we can use your name and picture in the newspapers and on TV,” beamed young Freckles as he placed another paper in front of George.
The winner, who was feeling just a little out of phase, murmured as he signed, “Newspapers?...TV?”
“Yes Sir, This is big news!”
At last George regained some of his composure and asked. “What time is it?”
“Seven o’clock, Sir.”
At last it hit him. He’d just won Three Thousand Dollars. Thinking of his new family he realized this could make all the difference in their future.
“I’ve got to tell Lydia,” he said aloud, jumping up and handing the coupon to young Frec.
“No, sir, you keep that. Bring it back at ten thirty and I’ll have your check for you.”
“Thank You! Thank you!” stammered George as he started for the door. His knees were all wobbly and he couldn’t feel the floor under him. Suddenly he was running...running back toward the hospital. He dashed into the hospital lobby, shouting,
“I won! I won!
Old sour face Witchee-Bitch looked up from her desk in dismay. “Sir, Please be quiet! “This is a hospital.”
George’s yell was quickly reduced to a whisper.
“I won! I won!” he chirped.
The old biddy still had his pink slip, but he decided to deal with her later. Her had to see Lydia first.
He hurried to Lydia’s room only to find her asleep. Torn between his desire to tell her about his good fortune and her need to rest, he stood for a few moments looking down at her. He thought she looked angelic with her long blond hair spread out on the pillow. There was a faint smile on her lips. As he looked at her, she stirred, opened her eyes and gazed sleepily up at him.
“Hi, Honey, she said, stretching and yawning. “Oh, I had such a good sleep. What have you been up to?” She sat up and patted the bed next to her. George sat down. Hardly able to contain himself, he handed her the card.
“Lookee, lookee, Lyd. Look what your ol’ Dad’s brought you,” he said with a big, boyish grin.
Lydia squinted at the card, reached for her glasses on the table, put them on, and studied the winning Breakfast Bonanza coupon.“What does it mean, Georgie?” she asked with a puzzled frown.
“It means I just won Three thousand dollars at the Happy Pancake,” he beamed.
For a moment she didn’t get his meaning until she read the contest rules on the reverse side of the small card. She clapped her hands together in amazement and laughed.
“It can’t be true!” she exclaimed.
“But it is...and here’s how the whole thing came about.” With that he told her about Little Red Beard.
“Oh George, you have such a vivid imagination. Sounds like another of your crazy dreams. You’ve worked too hard to finish your master’s thesis, that’s all,” she patted his knee.
“I think it’s given you hallucinations.’
George deflated a little. “But it seemed so real. Guess you’re right though--just a dream.But the contest money is real enough Lyddy It’ll help pay the hospital bill and I can get our car out of hock.”
“Yes darling of course,” Lydia replied, pulling him down to her for a big kiss.
He wriggled loose and gave her a pinch. “Here, girl enough of that. We have serious things to discuss. There’s a pressing problem that must be rectified.”
“What’s that Georgie,” she asked with a puzzled frown.
“It’s high time we got married,” he replied with mock seriousness.
‘I don’t see why,” Lydia replied, but joy filled her when he spoke the words. All along, the thought had gnawed at
her perhaps it would be better for them to give the child up for adoption. She knew it would be impossible for her now that she’d held little George Twoand nursed him. Yet the truth was, they weren’t married. Though they had discussed it, time and nature had gotten away from them. Perhaps now George should dump her and go on with his career.
“We need to marry for the boy’s sake,” George went on with a straight face. “Because he needs a father...” he saw her face fall and added with a big grin. “And because I love the heck out of you and need you so much?”
Her heart leaped as he kissed her tenderly. At last she was sure George really loved her as she loved him--with all her heart; and this wasn’t just another college romance that had gone too far.
Lydia squeezed his hand. “Yes, and I suppose our folks need to know they are grandparents.”
“Won’t this frost ‘em?!” laughed George. “Tell ya what, honey, why don’t we plan the wedding for a week from today...next Saturday. That way you and George Two should be strong enough. I’ll send your folks and mine telegrams, asking them to be here on the twentieth.”
Lydia squirmed a little, then gave a wicked little laugh. “This’ll give my parents a kick right in their mid-Victorian pants. George, they don’t even know about you, let alone little George. You’d better put my name on the telegram and don’t mention the baby. One shock at a time. I love my folks, but they’re not going to understand any of this.
They talked for a while, planning their future and how they’d use their new wealth. Two hours went by and another nurse came on duty as Lydia and George talked. The new nurse frowned at George and said, “Bath time, sir. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait outside.”
“Oh, man!” exclaimed George. “What time is it?”
“Ten-thirty, sir.”
“I’d better get going then. Gotta pick up our money.” He gave Lydia a kiss and rushed past the astonished nurse.
When he arrived back at the Happy Pancake, a small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk. A van was parked at the curb. On its side panel, giant letters stated the vehicle belonged to Channel Two. An obviously bored cameraman with a TV mini-cam balance on his shoulder was standing to one side. A pleasant looking young man stood near him with a microphone in hand. He was studying the toe of his shoe; checking it’s shine in the morning light. Miss Agnes was coyly trying to get his attention, but he ignored her.
Meanwhile Freckles, the Happy Pancake manager, was deep in conversation with a short, bald headed man. The spectators looked on with mild interest, wondering what it was all about.
George glanced in through the windows of the eatery. He could see it was empty. Too late for breakfast and too early for lunch. He stood with the onlookers for a few moments and viewed the scene. Then Freckles caught sight of him and called out a greeting.
“Mr. Potter, we were getting worried.”
He motioned George over to meet the bald headed man who turned out to be Happy Pancakes Bay Area public-relations man. He made a big fuss over George.
George Potter was the first big winner in Happy Pancakes first contest, and this was in- deed an historic moment!” George thought they were overplaying it a bit, but smiled and acted out the part of an excited winner as best he could. The P.R. man was very proud he’d been able to round up so much media publicity in such a short time. He introduced George to the newsman, who kept repeating he wasn’t sure this story would get on the news. George got the impression that Channel Two carried a big chunk of Bay Area’s Happy Pancake advertising budget and they were only covering the story to keep their client happy.
The newsman coached George on what to do and how to stand. The cameraman faced them into the morning sun so they had to squint. Freckles went through the motions of presenting George with a check as the man pointed his camera at them. The newsman smiled a toothy grin and asked George how the whole thing came about. George was tempted to tell them about little Red Beard but, Lydia's skepticism and his own common sense had reduced that whole episode to a dream. His good luck was just that, and nothing more.
Finally the show was over and everyone scattered. The Channel Two crew packed up their gear and left. the P.R. man snapped a few pictures and he took off. The spectators lost interest and went about their business. Freckles and Miss Agnes congratulated him again, then went back inside to get ready for the lunch bunch.This left George standing by himself on the sidewalk. At last he looked down at the check in his hand. Sure enough it was for three thousand dollars! His mind started spending it so fast he got the sinking feeling it wouldn’t last long. But it would be a big help...that was certain. First, he had to do something about the car and the hospital. He leaned through the doorway of the Happy Pancake.
“Could you please tell me where I might find the nearest bank?” he called after the retreating figure of ol’ Frec, the manager.
“Oh, of course, Mr. Potter. There’s one right around the corner. Just have them call us if they have any questions.”
****
George hurried to the bank, entered and rushed up to the nearest teller. She took his check and looked at it without expression. “Let me confirm this, Mr. Potter. Just a precaution. It’s for your own protection, you know.”
George nodded. the girl went to the phone at the back of the bank and he supposed she talked to Freckles. She nodded, hung up the receiver and returned to the window with a smile.
“Yes indeed, Mr. Potter! Everything is in order and congratulations! How do you want the check handled? Perhaps you’d like to open an account. We’re having a contest and I could win a trip to Hawaii.”
George thought for a minute while the girl continued to beam at him eagerly. Finally he said. “Yes--I don’t have an account anywhere. Never had any money to put in one. Let’s see...I’ll open an account for twenty-seven hundred; and take the balance in cash. I’ve got a few expenses I gotta take care of right away.”
“Checking or savings?” asked the girl, earnestly.
“Oh, checking I guess. It won’t last long enough to make any interest anyway.”
The girl made out the necessary forms and George signed them. Then she counted out the three hundred in cash. He inspected the pockets of his old jeans for holes and carefully folded the money away in the watch pocket. He turned to thank the teller, but she was already helping another depositor.
****
George hurried back to the hospital and found Lydia still asleep. He had plenty to do anyway. First he settled accounts temporarily and got his VW out of hock.
He went out to where he’d parked the small car. He got in and was about to put the key in the ignition when he heard a voice at his elbow.
“Say, Bud!”
Startled, George turned to see a man leaning on the second hand VW as if he owned it. He reminded George of a caricature of a used car salesman. Dressed in an outlandish, wild plaid jacket with yellow trousers, his hair was plastered to his head and a giant cigar stuck into his slash of a mouth, he looked pretty sinister, but too flamboyant to be a real crook. Nonetheless, George was immediately put on his guard.
“Yes...Yes--sir?” George stammered at the bizarre looking character.
“Say, Bud,” the man repeated. “ I saw ya dis mornin’ at da Happy Pancake.”
George’s reaction was to reach down and put his hand over the money he’d stashed in the watch pocket.
“I know ya got money burnin’ a hole in yer pocket,” continued the man as he took the cigar from his mouth and studied it for a moment. Then he fixed George with the steadiest look his shifty eyes could manage and leaned closer to the student.
“A lot of folks would like to help ya part wit dat roll,” he continued. “Don’t get me wrong. I ain’t one of ‘em. I got a real proposition for ya.”
Oh sure! thought George with a frown.
“Ya ever play da horses, Bud?” the man asked.
“No,
I don’t believe in gambling. You never win in the long run,” was the student’s ready reply.
“Au contraire--au contraire,” smiled the man. “You’ve heard of the Irish Sweepstakes? You’re a lucky guy. Look at this morning. Ya won three thousand buckolas. Wit luck like dat
you could easily win da Sweepstakes--A million smackers!”
“You’re selling Sweepstakes tickets.” stated George, flatly.
“That I am, Bud. I just know I got the winning one here somewhere.” He shifted the cigar to the other side of his mouth as he pointed to the book of tickets in his hand. “I can feel it in my bones, and I’ll sell it to ya for the low price of five bucks a ticket.”
A bell went off in George’s head and once again he could see the red bearded face of the little man in green. Remember, George, be wise with your money, but don’t be afraid to take a little gamble. Oberon, the leprechaun’s words echoed in his mind. He saw the red beard thrust toward him as one of the little man’s green eyes winked.
“Gosh, was it only a dream?” said George aloud.
“Wazzat, Bud-- a dream?” he went on. “Sure it’s a dream, A dream come true of you should win.”
George thought of Lydia back at the hospital and he thought of George Two. They needed money badly, a larger home, diapers, baby food, doctor bills. His conscience was torn between Oberon’s advice and his own good sense. Still, if the little guy in green wasn’t a dream--and if this was a chance to win a million dollars. Decisions, decisions! But after all, this was his lucky day, or was it only luck? Oh, what the hell!
Finally the face of the man in the garish plaid jacket came back into focus. “You okay, Bud?” he asked with a puzzled frown.
“Oh, s...sure, fine. Give me ten tickets,” sighed George.
“A fine investment, Bud. Ten tickets, that’s only fifty buckolas. Sure you wouldn’t like to buy more? You can afford it, and it would better yer odds.”
“Just ten, please,” replied George impatiently. Those fifty buckolas would buy a lot of baby formula and he was already regretting his decision.
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