He grinned, “Of course not. When things are right we’ll have a baby. Maybe a whole houseful of them, but that’s beside the point right—” He stopped, stared at her. The blush on her cheeks, her shy smile, the sudden worry about money all had a„ new significance. He put his knife down carefully.
“You mean . . .”
“Yes . . .”
For a moment he was silent, almost hushed. Then he said, “Great jumping catfish!”
His wife jumped up from the table and ran into the front room crying. Throwing herself on the couch, she buried her face in a pillow, shoulders shaking uncontrollably.
Jim hurried to her side. “Don’t cry, baby. Please don’t. It’s all right, every things wonderful. You—you just surprised me.”
“I wouldn’t have told you if I’d known you were going to be upset,” she said, her voice muffled by the pillow.
“Now, now,” he said. “It’s wonderful. He thought about it a moment and it did seem wonderful. “Me, a father,” he said, reverently.
Rita sat up after a while, and let him dry her eyes with the corner of her handkerchief. “We’ll get along all right,” he said.
“We can cut down on everything else,” she said. “No shows, no nights out, no steaks.”
“You’ve got to have your strength,” he said.
He lit a cigarette and tried to look at the whole situation objectively. He made forty-two dollars a week. Their monthly rent was fifty-five and that was going to be raised shortly. That would take a week and half’s salary. With food and carfare there just wasn’t going to be much left. He decided he could take his lunch and save thirty-five cents a day, and maybe there might be a raise when he let the boss know he was having an addition to his family.
He hated to skimp, particularly where Rita was concerned. He wanted to give her the best and not worry her about money; but he was caught in a tight spot and there was little he could do to help.
They talked about their plans then for a full hour. They decided they could make it, but just barely. There wasn’t going to be a margin for sickness, or recreation.
Their grave discussion was interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell. Jim glanced at Rita inquiringly. “Expecting anyone?”
“Why, no.”
The bell rang again, insistently.
Jim pressed the buzzer that released the door in the vestibule of the building. Then he opened the door of their apartment and stepped out on the landing.
He heard someone coming up the stairs quickly, panting loudly with the effort.
“Jim Ward?” a vaguely familiar voice said excitedly.
“Yes, that’s right. Who is it?”
“I’ve got to talk with you. It’s terribly important.”
The man turned the last corner and started up to Jim’s landing. He was a big man, with white hair and flushed face. He wore a chesterfield overcoat and a black homburg. He looked upset and excited, but still important.
“Young man, my name is Matthew Morgan,” he said, speaking very rapidly. “You helped, save an old man this morning from crossing in front of a truck. I also helped. That’s what I’m here about.” He rattled the sentences off with the velocity of a machine gun. “He offered us each a wish, remember? Well, he wasn’t just making conversation.”
“Slow down just a minute,” Jim said, smiling. “I remember helping an old man. And now that I think back I remember you. But what’s all the business about your wish?”
“Can I come in a minute,” Matthew Morgan said, speaking slightly more slowly. “I’ll explain everything to your satisfaction.”
“Very well,” Jim said.
He led him into the living room and introduced Matthew Morgan to his wife.
RITA was obviously impressed by Morgan’s air of importance and his clothes. “Won’t you take off your coat? And would you like coffee?”
“No, thank you,” Morgan said. “I don’t want to trouble you any more than necessary. I will take off my coat, however.”
He put the chesterfield over the arm of his chair and sat down, still breathing heavily. Rita and Jim sat together on the couch, facing him.
He took a cigar from his pocket and asked Rita if she minded if he smoked. She said of course not.
“Fine.” When his cigar was drawing well, he said, “Now you both undoubtedly think I’m crazy, intruding like this. But, believe me, it’s important. Now, young man, you do remember that old man we assisted this morning?”
“Yes, but I hadn’t thought of it again until just now.”
“Jim, what’s this all about?” Rita said.
“This gentleman and I were waiting for a light at Adams street this morning. An old fellow with sun glasses and a long white beard almost stepped out in front of a truck. Fortunately we grabbed his elbows in time and pulled him out of the way. He was very grateful. He said something about granting us any wish we desired, but to be careful that it didn’t hurt anyone else. I remember it all pretty clearly now. I thought he was a little bit touched.”
“Yes, so did I,” Matthew Morgan said. “But let me tell you what happened. This evening I went to my club for dinner, my usual custom on Tuesday nights. My doctor has given me a rather strict diet and I saw nothing on the menu I could eat but crackers and milk. So I resigned myself to a very unstimulating meal. However, I couldn’t forget that I was very hungry. I had worked hard all day and it seemed unjust that I should have to nibble on crackers and sip milk when inside I felt as if I hadn’t eaten for weeks.
“At any rate the waiter brought my dinner. Four large crackers on a sterling plate. A pat of butter. A large crystal goblet of cold milk. I tell you it was enough to make a man weep. I looked at that pitiful food and I said aloud: ‘I wish I had a thick, blood-rare steak, covered with mushrooms and dripping with a rich, tangy beefsteak sauce. With that I wish I had duchess potatoes, a small green salad with cammembert cheese and dressing made of oil, sherry and vinegar. And for dessert I want Cherries Jubilee, and then about three cups of strong black coffee and a double pony of cordon bleu brandy.”
Morgan Matthews paused and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “I said that aloud,” he said, almost whispering now. “And when I looked down at the table everything I asked for was there, waiting for me.” He paused and swallowed audibly. “Young man, my wish had been granted!
THERE was silence after his words, and Jim looked at Rita with a frown. For an instant he had been tempted to laugh; but there was no doubt that Matthew Morgan was serious. Just as serious as people who imagine they are Napoleon.
“That’s very interesting,” he finally managed to say. “Ah—did you enjoy your meal?”
“I didn’t wait to eat it,” Matthew Morgan said. “I was too astounded, too dazed at first. But then I realized what had happened. Now, don’t be looking at each other like I’m crazy. I’m telling you the absolute truth.”
“I’m sure you are,” Rita said tactfully.
‘“Now, listen to me, both of you,” Morgan said. “The first thing I did was to think about that old man and everything he said. I remembered you, too, Jim Ward. My memory is excellent. Thinking back I recalled that you had been carrying a manila envelope under your arm. I also remembered that there was the name of a firm on the upper left comer of the envelope. It was the Ryan Engineering company. I went through the telephone directory, got the number. Of course your office was closed by that time, but I was able to locate the home phone number of Albert Ryan, who turned out to be your employer. From him I got your address.”
“But what do you want of me?”
Morgan leaned forward and shook an impressive forefinger at Jim. “Just this. You were also given a wish by the old fellow we saved. Now possibly I imagined that a six course dinner miraculously appeared before me tonight. However, the food was real. The waiters were as astonished as I when they saw it. I tried wishing again for something more valuable, but nothing happened. Great God! I could buy a million meals like that. Anyway, I came to
you on the chance that I’m not crazy or imagining things. Possibly you have a wish which can be granted. I don’t, want you to waste it as I did, young man.”
Jim thought it over a while and then glanced at Rita with a smile. “If there’s anything to it, it would surely settle our problems, honey. We could wish for enough money to take care of the baby, even send him all the way through college.”
“Please don’t wish for anything so temporary,” Morgan said.
“Jim, I don’t like it,” Rita said, with a worried frown. “I know we need money, but we’re getting along all right. We’re happy as we are, and I don’t want anything to spoil it.”
“Well,” Jim said, “There’s probably nothing to it, anyway. But a little money certainly won’t spoil things for us. Actually that’s all we need to be completely happy.”
“But it might change things,” Rita protested. “Money you work for us is one thing. But having it just dumped into your lap is different.”
“The difference is that it’s easier to get that way,” Jim grinned. “Now, don’t be worrying about it, honey. Of course, nothing is going to happen, so don’t get excited counting your chickens when we don’t even have an egg.”
Morgan had listened to their conversation with a grave expression. Now he said: “You might be wondering why I’m here. First, I wasted my wish, but there was no way I could have known any better. However, you know better. Even if it doesn’t work,
I want to suggest the thing for you to wish for. You don’t have to pay any attention to me, of course, but here’s the proposition I’m going to make. I’ll give you fifty thousand dollars in a certified check, if you make a wish which I will suggest. Now if nothing happens the money is yours. If the wish is granted I will let you share in fifty per cent of the profits I can make from the wish. What do you say?”
“You seem-pretty convinced something is going to happen, don’t you?”
“I’m willing to gamble fifty thousand dollars on it,” Morgan said emphatically. “I have the check with me in my pocket. You can see for yourself that it’s as negotiable as a fifty thousand dollar bill. You’ll have that much, even if it turns out I was mistaken or deluded. And if your wish is granted well, young man, I’ll make profits that will make you smile at a mere fifty thousand dollars.”
“It sounds like a fool-proof proposition,” Jim said thoughtfully.
RITA stood and walked nervously to the windows. “Jim, I still don’t like it. We—we’re gambling with the life we have for something we know nothing about. We can get along as we are.”
“Don’t be so foolish,” Jim said shortly. “Fifty thousand dollars will set us up for life. I’m not exactly happy about the prospects of slaving away for the next twenty years to make a niggardly living. You don’t have the clothes you should have or the right kind of apartment. And there’s the baby that’s coming. You want him to have a break, don’t you?”
“We can give him a break, Jim. We can give him love and care and tenderness. Those things don’t cost a cent. But we don’t know what kind of people we will be if we simply fall into a fortune.”
“We can find out,” Jim said stubbornly. He glanced at Morgan. “It’s a deal. Let me see the check, please.” Morgan took a stiff slip of paper from his pocket, handed it to Jim. Jim studied it carefully, turned it over an saw that it was already endorsed.
“All right,” he said, quietly. “What do you want me to wish for?”
“For tomorrow’s closing figures on the New York stock exchange,” Morgan said.
“Please, Jim,” Rita said, desperately.
Jim was staring at the check. He saw it in terms of clothes, a car, better food and a new apartment, or perhaps a home. “For Heaven’s sake, Rita, will you be quiet?”
He put the check in his pocket and said, “For your sake, Mr. Morgan, I hope you aren’t wasting your money.” He cleared his throat, while Morgan watched him anxiously.
“I wish,” Jim said, slowly, “That I had the closing figures for tomorrow from the New York stock exchange.”
He felt somewhat silly as he pronounced the words. Rita was silent, staring at him with an anxious expression. Morgan was holding his breath.
There was complete silence in the room.
Morgan let out his breath slowly.
Rita began to smile slowly. “It didn’t work,” she said.
“You didn’t want it to work,” Jim said savagely.
The phone rang suddenly.
Jim looked at Morgan, then hurried to the phone. He picked it up and said, “Yes?”
A quiet, soft voice, said: “I have the information you desired. Would you get a pencil and paper, please?”
“Yes, yes,” Jim cried. “Hold on, please.”
“I will wait,” the soft voice said.
“We got it,” Jim said, tensely. He grabbed pencil and paper from his small desk and with Morgan at his side hurried to the phone. “All right, I’m ready.”
THE soft voice began listing names and figures. Jim’s pencil flew across the paper, and Morgan’s eyes began to gleam with excitement as he studied them.
“Good God!” he said once, incredulously, as Jim listed the closing report on one of the largest firms in the country. “They’re through, finished, out of business.”
The report took over twenty minutes. Finally the soft voice said, “That is what you wished for. I hope you will be very happy. And I would remind you again of my injunction this morning. Good night.”
The phone clicked, went dead in Jim’s ear.
Morgan had collected the sheets of paper and was reading through them with a gloating smile. “This will do it,” he whispered. “This will make us the biggest men in the county within twenty-four hours.” He grabbed Jim’s hand and wrung it strongly. “We’re in this together, you know. And I needn’t remind you to keep this secret. Now, we don’t have a minute to lose. Get your hat and coat and come with me.”
Jim was caught by the fever of excitement in Morgan’s voice. He didn’t completely understand what was going to happen, but he knew enough of business and finance to realize roughly what those future closing figures meant.
He got his hat and coat and then went to Rita. “I’m going with Mr. Morgan. You’ll be all right here, honey.” He had forgotten his momentary annoyance at her. She hadn’t wanted him to take this chance, but that was the way with a woman, and he didn’t blame her.
“I’ll be all right, Jim,” she said evenly. “But please—” She turned away from him with a little shrug. “I was going to tell you to be careful, but I think you can take care of yourself.”
“Why, sure I can.”
“Let’s go,” Morgan said impatiently.
They spent the night in his office. Morgan was a stock broker with elaborate offices in the Banker’s building. There were dozens of desks in an outer office, teletypes and stock tickers by the bunch in each corner of the vast room. Morgan’s inner office was carpeted in gray and dominated by« an immense semi-circular desk with at least a dozen phones on it.
Morgan threw his coat on a couch and then picked up a phone and ordered coffee and sandwiches sent up from a private catering establishment.
Then he sat down behind the desk and lit another cigar.
“Now, we’ll do a little talking,” he said. “I’ve got money, all I need, but money is something one can never stop making. If you decide you have enough you’re licked. Someone else comes along with a little more drive and pretty soon you’re out. Now tomorrow when the trading starts you and I will work in here alone. You can do as well as one of my vice presidents because I’m going to tell you every step to make. I don’t want any one else in on this. It’s too big.”
After the food and coffee arrived and had been eaten Morgan called-his two bankers at their homes.
“I want to be liquid by noon tomorrow,” he ordered. “Everything I have goes into cash. That’s right, everything!”
When he hung up he turned to Jim. “Listen car
efully now, young man. I’m going to tell you every step of the operation I’m planning.” He smiled grimly. “You’ll know more about this business than anyone on the street when I’m through . . .”
AT two thirty he finished. Jim’s head was swimming with figures and calculations, but he saw the pattern, saw the complete picture. He made a few comments and asked several questions. Morgan nodded approvingly.
“You’ve got the mind for it. You’ve been wasting your time. Now let’s go to my club for a few hours sleep.”
Jim felt guilty about not returning home, but there was no choice. He decided not to call, since Rita would undoubtedly be asleep anyway.
The next morning they breakfasted early at Morgan’s club. It was Jim’s first view of the life led by those who are privileged to enjoy it. There were deferential waiters, quick, efficient service, and an entire organization devoted to the luxurious comfort of its members.
Jim liked it. He enjoyed the hovering waiters, the solicitous attention to his needs, the flush feeling of importance when he was helped into his coat and a uniformed attendant sprang into the street to hail them a cab.
They reached Morgan’s office by eight thirty and Jim called Rita. She didn’t sound angry, and he felt a stab of remorse. He would have felt less guilty had she been sulking.
“I’m awfully sorry about not getting home. But this thing is, just too big to leave for a minute.”
“I understand, Jim. Will you be home for dinner?”
“Sure thing. And Rita. Call my office and tell Ryan I won’t be down.”
“You’re not quitting?”
“Of course I am. Do that for me. Tell him I’m not interested in working for peanuts anymore. I’ve got to hang up, baby. Take it easy.”
Morgan was waiting with a list of figures they had prepared the night before. “Here’s the start. At nine on the head get the Sloan Brokerage outfit on, the wire. My account there is solid enough to last us until noon. After that my bankers will have capital enough to see us through the day.” Jim took the figures and sat down before a phone. He watched the clock. At nine he picked up the receiver . . .
Collected Fiction (1940-1963) Page 246