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."), the victory of
Massachusetts over Quebec in the Inter-Colonial football matches
(Massachusetts a colony? And football in April?), the trial of one Diedrichs
for murdering a man with a cross-cut saw. . . .
All this was very interesting, especially the Diedrichs case. But Allister
Park was more concerned with the whereabouts and probable fate of the Antonini
gang. He also thought with gentle melancholy of Mary and Eunice and Dorothy
and Martha and Joan and . . . But that was less important than the beautiful
case he had dug up against such a slimy set of public enemies. Even Park,
despite the cynical view of humanity that public prosecutors get, had felt a
righteous glow when he tallied up the evidence and knew he had them.
And the nomination was not to be sneezed at either. It just happened that he
was available when it was a
Protestant's turn at that nomination. If he missed out, he'd have to wait
while a Catholic and a Jew took theirs. Since you had to be one or the other
to get nominated at all, Park had become perforce a church member and regular
if slightly hypocritical goer.
His plan was, after a few terms as DA, to follow the incumbent DA onto the
bench. You would never have guessed it, but inside Allister Park lingered
enough of the idealism that as a young lawyer he had brought from Colorado to
give the bench an attractiveness not entirely comprised of salary and social
position.
He looked in his pockets. There was enough there for one good bender.
Of the rest of the day, he never could remember much afterwards. He did
remember giving a pound note to an old woman selling shoelaces, leading a
group of drunks in a song about one Columbo who knew the world was round-o
(unexpurgated), and trying to take a fireman's hose away from him on the
ground that the city was having a water shortage.
* * *
He awoke in another strange room, without a trace of a hangover. A quick look
around assured him that he was alone.
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It was time, he thought, that he worked out a system for the investigation of
his identity on each successive morning. He learned that his name was
Wadsworth Noe. The pants of all the suits in his closet were baggy knee pants,
plus fours.
Something was going ping ping ping
, , , like one of those tactful alarm clocks. Park located the source of the
noise in a goose-necked gadget on the table, which he finally identified as a
telephone. As the transmitter and receiver were built into a single unit on
the end of the gooseneck, there was nothing to lift off the hook. He pressed a
button in the base. A voice spoke: "Waddy?"
"Oh yeah. Who's this?"
"This is your little bunnykins."
Park swore under his breath. The voice sounded female and young; and had a
slight indefinable accent.
He stalled: "How are you this morning?"
"Oh, I'm fine. How's my little butterball?"
Park winced. Wadsworth Noe had a figure even more portly than Allister Park's.
Park, with effort, infused syrup into his voice: "Oh, I'm fine too,
sweetie-pie. Only I'm lonesome as all hell."
"Oh, isn't that too bad! Oo poor little thing! Shall I come up and cook dinner
for my precious?"
"I'd love it." A plan was forming in Park's mind. Hitherto all these changes
had taken place while he was asleep. If he could get somebody to sit around
and watch him while he stayed up . . .
The date was made. Park found he'd have to market.
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On the street, aside from the fact that all the men wore plus fours and
wide-brimmed hats, the first thing that struck him was the sight of two dark
men in uniform. They walked in step down the middle of the sidewalk. Their
walk implied that they expected people to get out of their way. People got. As
the soldiers passed him, Park caught a sentence in a foreign language,
sounding like Spanish.
At the market everyone spoke with that accent Park had heard over the phone.
They fell silent when another pair of soldiers entered. These loudly demanded
certain articles of food. A clerk scurried around and got the order. The
soldiers took the things and departed without paying.
Park thought of going to a library to learn about the world he was in. But if
he were going to shift again, it would hardly be worthwhile. He bought a
New York Record
, noticing that the stand also carried a lot of papers in French and Spanish.
Back in his apartment he read of His Majesty Napoleon V, apparently emperor of
New York City and
God knew what else!
* * *
His little bunnykins turned out to be a smallish dark girl, not bad-looking,
who kissed him soundly. She said: "Where have you been the last few days,
Waddy? I haven't heard from you for simply ages [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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