Collected Fiction (1940-1963)

by William P. McGivern

  “But what about the money?” Betty said. “That’s a real problem.”

  Oscar frowned thoughtfully.

  “We’ll have to keep it,” he said, at last. “It’s the only thing we can do. The bank has been reimbursed by the insurance company, so the depositors won’t suffer. If we returned the money now we’d risk upsetting the whole applecart. No, we’ve got to keep it.”

  “But Oscar,” Betty said, “is that exactly honest?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Oscar said. “We won’t squander the money on our own pleasure. We’ll invest it in War Bonds. That should certainly make it all right.”

  “I see your point,” Betty said, “it’s the only thing we can do, isn’t it?” Oscar nodded solemnly and drew her closer to him and tilted her chin up with his hand.

  “With the money that is,” he said, and kissed her firmly.

  TINK FIGHTS THE GREMLINS

  First published in the October 1943 issue of Fantastic Adventures.

  Tink and Jing and Nastee didn’t want trouble, but these gremlins were fighting on the wrong side in the war, so they acted . . .

  CHAPTER I

  THE interior of the small London flat was bright and cheerful. Strong northern light came in the wide, uncurtained windows and fell in regular patterns across the plain furnishings and the dozens of half-finished paintings which were stacked about the floor and hung from every wall of the high-ceilinged room.

  A tall, dark-haired man in a painter’s smock stood in the center of the room studying intently an easel on which a half-completed painting of three roses was spread. He held a pipe in one hand and there was a curious, puzzled expression on his face as he studied the painting.

  Tink, Jing and Nastee, the three New York leprechauns, were sitting on the edge of the easel, watching him with bright interested eyes.

  “I think he’s terribly handsome,” Jing said.

  She was sitting between Tink and Nastee, but she had edged over as close to Tink as possible. Nastee’s sour little face was cupped in his hands and his lips were pressed in a thin dissatisfied line.

  “You would!” he said disgustedly.

  “What’s the matter with you, Nastee?” Tink asked. “You’re even more bitter today than usual.”

  “Mind your own business,” Nastee snapped.

  Jing giggled. “He’s still mad at you for dumping him into that well in Ireland.”

  “Well,” Tink grinned, “it was Saturday night, wasn’t it? He needed a bath anyway and I just saved him the trouble.”

  “Very funny,” Nastee muttered sarcastically. “Pardon me if I don’t roll on the floor laughing.”

  “You shouldn’t hold grudges like that,” Jing said. “After all, that happened months ago.”

  “By the way,” Tink said, looking at Nastee with a sudden suspicion, “where have you been since then? You showed up here only a week ago. And how did you know where to find us?”

  Nastee grinned maliciously.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he jeered. “You two may think you’re pretty smart, but you may be singing another tune before long.”

  Tink’s face was serious as he glanced at Jing.

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” he whispered worriedly. “Nastee sounds like he’s got something up his sleeve.”

  “Oh, he’s just talking,” Jing said. “Don’t pay any attention to him. Anyway, he couldn’t cause any harm here.”

  “I know,” Tink said thoughtfully, “but that’s just why I’m anxious.”

  THEIR conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. The young painter, with a last worried look at his half-finished painting, crossed the room and opened the door.

  A slim, dark-haired girl in the trim uniform of the Ferry Command was standing in the doorway. She smiled happily into the young painter’s incredulous face.

  “Ann Masterson!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

  Still smiling, the girl saluted smartly and straightened her slim, square shoulders. “Reporting for duty, Lieutenant Diggles,” she said.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” the young painter said dazedly.

  He took her by the shoulders and shook her gently.

  “What are you doing in that uniform? And how did you know I was a lieutenant?” he asked.

  “Oh, Tom,” the girl said excitedly, “I’ve got a thousand things to tell you. But I’m so happy about seeing you I hardly know where to begin.” She grinned into his still incredulous eyes. “Aren’t you going to ask me to come in?”

  “Why—why sure,” the young painter said. He stepped aside and the girl walked into the room, glancing quickly about with a pleased little smile on her lips. “Why it’s lovely here,” she said, turning to him. “It’s almost like your studio in New York.”

  “Light’s not quite so good,” he said. He was still staring at her unbelievingly. “Now break down and tell me everything,” he said, “or I’ll forget my chivalric background and spank the daylights out of you, uniform or not.” The girl grinned mischievously and pirouetted on slim ankles.

  “Isn’t it stunning,” she said breathlessly. She stopped and smoothed the trim, pencil-slim skirt with proud hands. “I wouldn’t trade it for a genuine Schiaparelli,” she said with sudden seriousness.

  “I can imagine,” Tom Diggles said with just a touch of irony. “You girls all love uniforms.”

  “That’s not fair, Tom,” Ann said. “You should realize that we are proud of what our uniforms symbolize and that’s all. But I see you haven’t changed since New York. You still think girls in uniform are just romantic exhibitionists, don’t you?”

  Tom Diggles shrugged and said, “It doesn’t make much difference what I think. But it isn’t girls in uniform I mind. It’s just that most of them are so light-headed and incompetent that it drives you crazy.”

  “Oh, you’re impossible,” Ann said, turning away from him with an angry whirl of her skirts. “You’ve got a medieval attitude about women that will never change. You think we should be locked away in cloisters and spend our time doing lace work, and let the great big strong men run the world and make all the decisions.”

  “That’s not what I think at all,” Tom said heatedly. “Like every woman, you twist and distort everything I say until the original thought is unrecognizable.

  You bring two things to every argument, a closed mind and an open mouth. There are a thousand important things for the woman of today to do, but running around in uniforms, getting in the way of vital work, is not one of them.”

  “Well regardless of what you think,” Ann said coolly, “I have been assigned to an aircraft maintenance corps, and my first official duty in London is to bring you these orders from Colonel Langley, of the First Bomber Command.”

  SHE drew a sheaf of sealed papers from a leather pouch at her waist and handed them to the young man.

  “And I hope they’re sending you to Iceland,” she said bitterly. “I understand the Eskimo women don’t wear uniforms and do nothing more dramatic than chew whale blubber all day. You’ll love it there.”

  The young man glanced at the unopened orders and then looked up at the girl, and there was an unwilling smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  “I see you still adore me,” he grinned. He put a hand under her chin and tilted her head up slightly.

  “I’m sorry for acting like a boor,” he said quietly, and he was no longer smiling. “My reception of a fellow American in London wasn’t very warm, was it?”

  “No,” the girl said, “it wasn’t. You did everything but throw me down the steps.”

  “Let’s not fight any more,” the young man said. “There’s enough fighting going on in the world today without our making every chance meeting another all-out battle.” He looked out the window and his eyes were serious as he watched a crew of men filling in a huge bomb crater in the middle of the street. The sun was strong and clean and the air was touched with the first breath of spring, but still t
he signs of war and death were visible on London’s face.

  “The Nazis have brought a taste of Hell to the world,” he said quietly, “and things will never be right again until the last one is exterminated. But, in the meantime,” he shrugged and turned away from the window, “let’s put an armistice to our private little war, shall we?”

  “Of course,” the girl said gently. The young man smiled at her and then opened his orders. He read them quickly and when he finished he shook his head disgustedly.

  “What’s the matter?” the girl asked. She grinned slightly. “Iceland?”

  “Nope,” the young man said. “Just a notice that I’m to be engaged in aerial reconnaissance for the next few months.” He folded the orders and shoved them into his pocket with a bitter gesture. “I’ve been begging to be assigned to an active bomber command for six months, and this is what I get.”

  “You’re luckier than most,” Ann said. “You’ve seen quite a bit of excitement already. Think of the poor boys who haven’t had any fun at all.”

  THE young man looked at her and his lips tightened ominously.

  “My dear,” he said gently, “you and I just signed a peace pact, and I am most anxious to keep it. But if you don’t want hostilities renewed, please stop referring to the fun and excitement of aerial duty over Europe. T can assure you there is no fun connected with the work. It’s hard and tough, and half the time your heart’s in your mouth, which isn’t a very pleasant sensation.”

  “But you are all anxious to be assigned to that kind of work,” Ann protested.

  “We want to be in a spot where we make the Nazis bleed and burn,” the young man said quietly. “All of us have memories of comrades shot down, friends killed in bombing raids, and we’re out to settle that score. Not because it’s fun, but because it has to be done, and the sooner it’s done, the sooner this world will return to something like normalcy. And,” he added with something of his old grin, “the sooner we can get our women out of uniforms and back in front of stoves where they belong.”

  “Let’s not start all that again,” Ann said. “And anyway, a lot of women I know don’t belong in front of stoves. If you ever tasted my biscuits you’d know what I mean.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Tom said, with a grin. “Okay, cease firing. Anyway,” he sighed, “maybe I’ll get another crack at my kind of action when I finish this assignment.”

  “Everything’s important, you know,” Ann said. “After all, where would the bombers be without aerial reconnaissance?”

  “You’re right,” Tom said. “There’s no point in griping. And I’ve been laid up here so long now that I should take anything and be thankful.”

  “How long have you been on the sick list?” Ann asked.

  “Almost two months,” Tom said. “I got my final okay from the medicos last week, so I expected my orders along pretty soon. But,” he smiled, “I didn’t expect such a charming courier.”

  “Well,” Ann said, “this really wasn’t my job. I’m attached to aircraft maintenance, but I heard the colonel giving these orders to the regular courier, so I just took over the job.”

  “I’m glad you did,” Tom said. “This is just like old times, isn’t it?” He glanced over his shoulder at his uncompleted painting. “I would have gone crazy if I hadn’t these paintings to work on. None of them are particularly good but they keep me occupied. This one here,” he said pointing to the easel on which the painting of the roses was spread, “has got me stumped.”

  He took the girl by the arm and led her to the easel.

  “What’s wrong with it?” she asked. “Well for one thing it isn’t finished,” Tom smiled. “But it seems to change during the night. I work as long as there’s light, but the next morning there seems to be something—” He shook his head and laughed. “I guess I am losing my mind.”

  Tink nudged Jing.

  “I told you last night you’d better stop dabbling with this painting.”

  “I didn’t do much,” Jing said. “I just changed the colors a bit. Anyway,” she added defensively, “I know more about flowers than any old painter.” Nastee was staring gloomily at the young man and now he said jeeringly, “Isn’t that a touching sight?”

  TINK looked and saw that he had slipped his arm about the girl’s slim waist and she had leaned her dark head against his shoulder.

  “I think that’s wonderful,” Jing said softly.

  “Bah!” Nastee said. “If I needed anything to make me feel completely happy about my new job, this is it.”

  “New job?” Ting asked. He looked suspiciously at the sour-pussed little leprechaun. “What new job? I thought there was something funny about your absence. Come on, out with it. What kind of a new job have you got?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Nastee sneered.

  “Yes, I would,” Tink said grimly. “And if you don’t open up, I’ll look around for another well to toss you in.”

  Nastee wriggled uneasily.

  “It’s none of your business,” he said.

  “I think I’m going to make it my business,” Tink said.

  The young lieutenant turned and brushed his lips across the girl’s soft cheek.

  “I think a lot about you, Ann,” he murmured. “I sometimes dream a bit about—later.”

  “What sort of dreams?” the girl asked quietly.

  “Very silly ones, I guess,” Tom said, with a short laugh. “I dream of this mess ending and me heading back to the United States and finding you just as lovely as you are now waiting—”

  “Waiting for what?” the girl asked, and her voice was only a whisper in the room.

  “For me,” Tom said. He laughed without humor. “That’s where the dream gets rather silly.”

  The girl turned slowly and looked into his eyes, earnestly.

  “Not so silly, Tom,” she said softly.

  The young lieutenant looked at her for an instant, then he took her in his arms and held her close.

  “I can’t believe it,” he murmured, his lips pressed against her hair.

  Nastee squirmed and looked away.

  “Will I be glad to put an end to that,” he said.

  “How are you going to put an end to it?” Tink asked.

  “You’re getting nosey again,” Nastee smirked.

  The young lieutenant looked down at the girl and smiled.

  “I’ll come back, dear,” he said.

  “Oh, be careful, Tom,” the girl said anxiously. “I’ll be worrying for you every second.”

  “Don’t be a silly little goose,” the lieutenant laughed. “I’ve got nothing to worry about but the gremlins.”

  “The gremlins?” Ann laughed. “I’ve heard about them. You don’t take them seriously, do you?”

  “Of course not. But the English lads are different. They’ll tell you a thousand stories to prove that there are actually little creatures maliciously tampering with their planes. But it’s just a silly superstition.”

  Nastee laughed unpleasantly.

  “That’s what you think,” he sneered.

  CHAPTER II

  TINK looked searchingly at Nastee.

  The ugly, bitter little leprechaun had an expression of unholy triumph on his face that was unsettling. Whenever Nastee looked so gloatingly happy, Tink knew that trouble was brewing.

  “What do you mean by that?” he asked. He knew that the humans couldn’t hear their voices, so he didn’t bother to speak softly.

  Nastee chuckled.

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” he said, hopping to his feet. “And he will too,” he added, pointing one tiny finger at the young lieutenant.

  “Nastee!” Tink cried, in a shocked voice. “Have you joined the gremlins?”

  Nastee assumed an expression of outraged innocence.

  “What a thing to accuse me of?” he cried.

  Tink knew from his attitude that he was guilty.

  “So you did,” he said grimly.

  “I don’t k
now what you’re talking about,” Nastee said haughtily.

  “Nastee, you’re lying,” Tink snapped. “You’ve joined the gremlins and you intend to sabotage the lieutenant’s reconnaissance plane, don’t you?”

  Nastee turned on him, scowling.

  “And supposing I am,” he snarled. “What difference does that make to you?”

  Jing looked at him in shocked horror.

  “I don’t believe you could be that bad, Nastee,” she said.

  “Nastee,” Tink said, “you’re going to get yourself in a lot of trouble if you join the gremlins. You know they’re an unsociable, unreliable, treacherous group of little imps.”

  “I like them,” Nastee said. “They’re grouchy all the time. They never laugh or smile. They make people unhappy. They’re wonderful.”

  “They sound dreadful,” Jing said.

  “How long have you been a member?” Tink asked.

  “About three weeks,” Nastee said.

  “And you came here about three weeks ago,” Tink said keenly. “You were assigned to this job by the gremlins, weren’t you? You came here in advance to spy on the lieutenant, didn’t you?”

  “Sure I did,” Nastee said.

  “You ungrateful little imp,” Tink said disgustedly.

  Nastee looked angry. His little face was screwed into a frown.

  “I don’t care what names you call me,” he said spitefully. “I’ve got a job I like and I’m going to keep it. And I won’t have you two around getting in the way of my work.”

  WITH a last indignant glance he swung over the edge of the easel and slid down one of its legs to the floor. He crossed the floor to the open window and climbed to the ledge. He looked back at them and laughed bitterly. Then he was gone.

  “Oh, Tink,” Jing cried, “what are we going to do? This nice young man will be killed if we don’t stop Nastee and the gremlins.” She looked away from Tink to the young girl who was sighing happily in the lieutenant’s arms, and her eyes clouded with tears. “And that would break this poor girl’s heart.”

  “I know, I know,” Tink said irritably. “We’ve got to do something, but what?”