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Thing, whole no. 1, Spring 1946
Page 26
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"It was a gift," said Mr. Pobbles, "from Pete Galeano. It's sixteen-year-old Scotch." "Hmph!" said the Federal man. He opened the bottle and tasted a little of it gingerly. "Hmph!" again. "If it's sixteen weeks old I miss my guess. Most neutral spirits and coloring matter." He put the cap back. "I'll take this along. You may be figuring in another arraignment before very long." "Oh, sure, sure!" said Mr. Pobbles. At last his conscience was clear of the blot of the Scotch. He was happy. Now! Now he would summon the djinn and right the wrongs of all humanity. He dived into the den. The lamp was not there. Mr. Pobbles looked on the table, on the bookcase shelves, on the floor. Then he called Mrs. Pobbles. "Mona," he said, "I had a little green lamp. It was here night before last, right on this table. Where did you put it?" "Oh, dear!" said Mrs. Pobbles. "Did you want it very much?" "Of course I want it very much," said Mr. Pobbles. "What did you do with it?" "Well, you see," said Mrs. Pobbles, "it was this way...." "What," screamed Mr. Pobbles, "did you do with it?" "Don't shout," said Mrs. Pobbles, who hated to be hurried, especially when she was in the wrong. "I'm telling you as fast as I can. It was this way. Yesterday afternoon the girls dropped in to tell me how sorry they were about your being in jail and how did you ever come to be mixed up with that wild Hollywood woman ---" "Yes, yes, go on!" "So we talked a little and then we played some bridge and I didn't have any bridge prize to give, what with having been so busy all morning taking you magazines and cigarettes and newspapers down at the jail---" "Get on with it, will you?" howled Mr. Pobbles. "So I gave the little lamp as a bridge prize and Thelma Gray won it." "She what?" "She won it. She had a perfectly wonderful streak of luck in the last hand and made a grand slam redoubled even though I had three aces, because she trumped one of them and Joyce Sampson reneged and she got two tricks back, and so she won...But where are you going, dear?" Mr. Pobbles was already half-way out the front door. "I'm going to take it away from her," said Mr. Pobbles through his teeth. "It wasn't yours to give her and I'm going to take it away from her." He was gone. At first Mr. Pobbles thought it was going to be easy. Mrs. Gray admitted that she had won the lamp. Then it became evident that she was bitter at having been given a piece of trash. Mona, she hinted, was a little on the "near" side. She should have known--- "I'd be happy," said Mr. Pobbles, "to replace it with a much more valuable prize." Mrs. Gray quivered. "Oh, dear," she said. Would you?" "I certainly would. I'd even be willing to give you cash for it - let's say fifty dollars - so that you could pick out something you want." "Well, I don't know---" said Mrs. Gray. "A hundred dollars!" "I can't be sure---" "Two hundred!" "Mrs. Gray quivered and gasped. "Two hundred? Oh dear. I gave it to the scrap drive." "When?" Mr. Pobbles shrieked. "Just now. Not fifteen minutes ago. The man was here with a cart and---" "Which way did he go?" Mrs. Gray pointed, mute with sorrow.
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"It was a gift," said Mr. Pobbles, "from Pete Galeano. It's sixteen-year-old Scotch." "Hmph!" said the Federal man. He opened the bottle and tasted a little of it gingerly. "Hmph!" again. "If it's sixteen weeks old I miss my guess. Most neutral spirits and coloring matter." He put the cap back. "I'll take this along. You may be figuring in another arraignment before very long." "Oh, sure, sure!" said Mr. Pobbles. At last his conscience was clear of the blot of the Scotch. He was happy. Now! Now he would summon the djinn and right the wrongs of all humanity. He dived into the den. The lamp was not there. Mr. Pobbles looked on the table, on the bookcase shelves, on the floor. Then he called Mrs. Pobbles. "Mona," he said, "I had a little green lamp. It was here night before last, right on this table. Where did you put it?" "Oh, dear!" said Mrs. Pobbles. "Did you want it very much?" "Of course I want it very much," said Mr. Pobbles. "What did you do with it?" "Well, you see," said Mrs. Pobbles, "it was this way...." "What," screamed Mr. Pobbles, "did you do with it?" "Don't shout," said Mrs. Pobbles, who hated to be hurried, especially when she was in the wrong. "I'm telling you as fast as I can. It was this way. Yesterday afternoon the girls dropped in to tell me how sorry they were about your being in jail and how did you ever come to be mixed up with that wild Hollywood woman ---" "Yes, yes, go on!" "So we talked a little and then we played some bridge and I didn't have any bridge prize to give, what with having been so busy all morning taking you magazines and cigarettes and newspapers down at the jail---" "Get on with it, will you?" howled Mr. Pobbles. "So I gave the little lamp as a bridge prize and Thelma Gray won it." "She what?" "She won it. She had a perfectly wonderful streak of luck in the last hand and made a grand slam redoubled even though I had three aces, because she trumped one of them and Joyce Sampson reneged and she got two tricks back, and so she won...But where are you going, dear?" Mr. Pobbles was already half-way out the front door. "I'm going to take it away from her," said Mr. Pobbles through his teeth. "It wasn't yours to give her and I'm going to take it away from her." He was gone. At first Mr. Pobbles thought it was going to be easy. Mrs. Gray admitted that she had won the lamp. Then it became evident that she was bitter at having been given a piece of trash. Mona, she hinted, was a little on the "near" side. She should have known--- "I'd be happy," said Mr. Pobbles, "to replace it with a much more valuable prize." Mrs. Gray quivered. "Oh, dear," she said. Would you?" "I certainly would. I'd even be willing to give you cash for it - let's say fifty dollars - so that you could pick out something you want." "Well, I don't know---" said Mrs. Gray. "A hundred dollars!" "I can't be sure---" "Two hundred!" "Mrs. Gray quivered and gasped. "Two hundred? Oh dear. I gave it to the scrap drive." "When?" Mr. Pobbles shrieked. "Just now. Not fifteen minutes ago. The man was here with a cart and---" "Which way did he go?" Mrs. Gray pointed, mute with sorrow.
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