The Dream Merchants Part 31

Dave stood there uncomfortably for a moment looking for someone to bring him a chair. He looked at me helplessly. I smiled up at him. "Grab yourself a chair, son," I said pleasantly, "and sit down." I turned to the others, still smiling. "I don't know what's the matter with these waitresses. They're never around when you want them."

Dave had to walk over to the wall and bring back a chair. I watched him. Without turning I spoke to Stanley in a quiet voice, but one that could be heard all through the room. "Bright kid, your nephew," I confided. "Reminds me of you, the way you were years ago. He'll go far if he doesn't let his head run away with him."

From the corner of my eye I could see the color run into Stanley's face. I saw Dave stop for a second as my words reached him; then he picked up the chair and turned around. His face was pale as he walked back to the table with it. He came back and sat down.

I turned to Stanley. "Yuh look good, boy," I said. "Put on a little weight though, haven't you?"

The conversation went on, but I didn't remember much of it. I was thinking about the last time Stanley and I had sat at a table together; that time he had come to me with the proposition that we unite our forces and take over the business for ourselves. It wasn't so long ago at that. Only fifteen years. It was 1923.

The little man got slowly to his feet. His blue eyes twinkled brightly at me; the fringe of gray hair around his bald head seemed to stand out like a wire brush from the sides of his head. He smiled at me. He spoke with a thick German accent. "I think that ought to do it, Mr. Etch," he said.

I looked down at my legs. There were two of them. One was mine and gleamed with a ruddy fleshlike color. One wasn't. It was made of wood and had joints of aluminum. It fitted tightly over the stump and was held with two straps. One went around my thigh and one fastened onto another strap that went around my waist. I looked at him doubtfully.

He seemed to read my mind. "Don't vorry, Mr. Etch," he said quickly, "it vill vork all right. Put on your trousers and then ve'll try it."

Suddenly I was eager to try it. If it worked I could walk again. I could be like other people. "Why can't I try it before I put on my trousers?" I asked.

"No," he said, shaking his head, "the trousers first. Take my vord for it, I know. Vitout trousers you will look at it and it vill be no good. You must not think about it."

I put the trousers on and he helped me while I b.u.t.toned them and slipped into the suspenders. He left me sitting there while he rolled a contraption over to me. It looked like one of those walkers they make for babies, only bigger. There were two parallel steel bars held up by four upright bars. On the bottom were four coasters, round little wheels.

"Now, Mr. Etch," he said, "hold onto these bars and lift yourself up between them."

I put one hand on each bar and lifted myself up. The little man stood next to me anxiously.

"Rest each bar under your armpit," he said.

I did as he told me.

"Now," he said, going to the other side of the room, "valk toward me."

I looked at him and then down at myself. My trouser legs fell straight to the floor. Both of them. They looked strange there, two of them, instead of one going to the floor and the other pinned to my side.

His voice was sharp. "Don't look down, Mr. Etch. I said: 'Valk toward me!'"

I looked at him again and took a tentative step forward. The carriage rolled under my arm and I almost stumbled, but the bars held me up.

"Don't stop, Mr. Etch! Keep valking!"

I took another step, then another and another and another and another. I could have walked a thousand miles. The carriage moved easily with me. I reached him.

He put his hand on the bars and stopped the carriage. "So far, so good," he said. He knelt by my side for a moment and tightened the strap around my thigh. "Now," he said, straightening up, "valk after me."

He stood in front of the walker and, facing me, walked backwards. Slowly I followed him. He kept walking backwards in a wide sort of a circle. He never looked behind him; his eyes were watching the movement of my legs.

I was beginning to get tired. There were shooting pains in my thighs, and the back of my neck hurt from my shoulders pressing against the bars. The belt across my waist cut into me every time I breathed.

At last he stopped. "All right Mr. Etch," he said. "That's enough for the first time. You can sit down now and take off the leg. Vith a month of pragtice you vill be like perfect."

I sank into the chair, breathing hard. I opened my trousers and he slid them off. Then he quickly loosened the straps and the leg slipped off. He ma.s.saged my thighs with expert fingers.

"It is sore, yah?" he asked.

I nodded my head.

"It is alvays like that at the beginning," he said. "But you vill get used to it and it vill go avay."

The sense of power I had felt when I first stood up seemed to drain out of me as the leg had come off. "I'll never get used to it," I said. "I'll never be able to use it for more than a few minutes at a time."

He pulled up his trouser leg and looked at me. "If I could do it, Mr. Etch," he said, "a young man like you should not haff any trouble."

I looked at his leg. It was artificial. I looked at him. He was smiling. I began to smile back at him.

He laughed aloud. "See," he said, "it is not so bad."

I nodded my head.

"I told Mr. Kessler ven he va.s.s in Chermany that it vould vork for you," he continued. "And it vill. He said to me: 'Herr Heink, if you can give this friend of mine to valk, I personally vill see that you go to America vit your family to live.' And I said to him: 'Herr Kessler, I am as goot already as an American citizen.' Is it not so?"

I grinned at him. I felt good. As busy as Peter had been, he had not forgotten to try to help me. It would have been easy for him not to go out of his way to this small town where he had heard of Herr Heink but continue about his business. But Peter had taken the time even though it had thrown his schedule more than a week out of place.

Then he sent this guy and his whole family to America and paid their way because that was the price the man had asked. He hadn't said anything to me about it. He knew of the disappointments I had had with the artificial legs made here. They weren't legs at all. They were clumsy stumps.

The first I knew about it was when Herr Heink had come to the office and sent in his card and a note from Peter. The note read simply: "This will introduce Herr Joseph Heink, who has come to the U.S. to start in business. He makes artificial legs. Maybe he can help you." Signed: "Peter."

No word about what it cost him. It was only after I had spoken to Heink that I learned what Peter had done.

This guy had something too. It was the way the joints worked. Naturally. Like your own legs. The movements were free and easy to make. You could not tell from looking that the man had an artificial leg himself. I had not known until now.

Peter was still in Europe. Doris and Esther were with him. They would be there for another six months and the business was all on my shoulders in the meantime.

I stood up and leaned on my crutches.

"You come back tomorrow morning, Mr. Etch," Heink said, "and ve vill give you another lesson in valking."

When I got back to the office, Rocco was waiting for me. "How was it?" he asked.

I smiled at him. "Good. I think this is gonna work."

He grinned. "That's swell."

I sat down behind my desk. He took the crutches from me and leaned them against the wall. "Anything special come up this morning?" I asked.

"The usual c.r.a.p," he answered. He started to turn away and then came back. "Oh yes," he said, "Farber called and wanted to know if you were free for lunch."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him I didn't know, you hadn't come in yet."

I thought for a minute. I didn't like Farber. I never had and I didn't know why. He knew his business all right, but there was something about him that I didn't like. Maybe it dated back to that letter I had got from him before I went into the army-the one where he thanked me for a job I hadn't given him yet.

George had okayed him and I let the thing stand. I was going into the army anyway and didn't think too much about it. But now he was in charge of all theater operations and we had over two hundred theaters. George was busy with his own theaters, which came to at least as many, and we had both agreed that Farber was logically the one to handle our jointly owned theaters.

"Do you know what he wanted?" I asked.

Rocco shook his head.

I thought for another minute. "Oh, what the h.e.l.l," I said, "I suppose I might as well see him and get it over with. If I don't he'll only bother me until I do. Tell him I'll meet him at the club at one thirty."

Rocco turned and left the office. I could hear him talking to Jane through the closed door.

Stanley Farber was waiting for me in the lobby of the club as I walked in the door. There was another man with him, a tall heavy-set man with steel-gray hair and sharp eyes.

He came forward to meet me, the tall man with him. He held out his hand. I took it. "h.e.l.lo, Johnny, how are you?" His laugh was a little too loud, too forced.

I put a smile on my face and looked at him. I wondered why he was so nervous. "I'm all right, Stan," I said. "How are you?"

"Never better," he answered, still laughing.

I said nothing, just leaned there on the crutches and looked at him. Suddenly he stopped laughing in the same way he started. He looked at me. "Johnny, I'd like you to meet my brother-in-law," he said. He turned to the other man. "Sid, this is Johnny Edge, the man I told you about." He turned back to me. "My brother-in-law, Sidney Roth."

We shook hands. I liked the way the man shook hands. It was strong, firm. I liked the way the man looked at me-straight, honest.

"Glad to know you, sir," I said.

His voice was soft and quiet for so big a man. "I'm honored, Mr. Edge."

Stanley turned and started toward the table. "Shall we eat?" he asked, laughing foolishly again.

I followed him, wondering why the h.e.l.l he had me to lunch with his brother-in-law. I didn't have to wait very long to find out. Stanley started in with the soup.

"You're in this business a long time, aren't you, Johnny?" he asked.

I looked at him. He knew as well as I how long I'd been in the business. I was polite, though. I answered him. "Fifteen years," I said, "since 1908." I was surprised myself when I said it. It hadn't seemed that long a time.

"Have you ever thought about going into business for yourself?" Stanley continued.

I shook my head. "I always thought that I was," I answered.

Stanley darted a quick look at his brother-in-law. It was a sort of I-told-you-so kind of look. It had a funny expression of condescension about it. He turned back to me. "I mean, start your own company or take over another?"

"No," I said to him. "Saw no reason for it. I always got along with Kessler all right."

For a moment Stanley was silent. When he spoke again, he had taken another tack. "From what I heard," he said, his voice lower now, "you were the brains behind Kessler all the time. Everything he did was because of you. You were responsible for his success."

I didn't like the way the talk was going, but I kept my temper. I wanted to find out what was coming. "I wouldn't say that, Stan," I said easily. "We all worked at it."

He laughed confidently now. "Don't be falsely modest, Johnny. You're among friends. You did all the brainwork and Peter got all the money and glory."

"I didn't do so bad," I protested mildly.

"What did you get out of it?" Stanley waved his hand airily. "Peanuts. Do you know he's a millionaire out of this? And when you met him he was a hardware-store keeper in a small town."

I tried to look interested. I leaned forward across the table. I didn't speak.

He looked at his brother-in-law again and then turned to me. "Don't you think it's about time you got a fair deal out of the old man?" he asked.

I spread my hands out on the table in a gesture of helplessness. "How?"

"Everybody knows Kessler listens to you. It's very simple really. His note at the Bank of Independence is coming due this year and it's common knowledge he will ask for a renewal. Why don't you suggest that he sell an interest in the business and retire the note?"

I played dumb. "Who's got that much money to buy in?"

"My brother-in-law could be interested for a fifty-percent partnership."

I looked at Mr. Roth. He hadn't said a word throughout our discussion. "And where do I come in?" I asked gently.

"With us," Stanley said. "If we can buy our way into equal partnership in the picture company, I can buy out Pappas's half of the theaters. That will give us control of the theater company. From there it's a short step to control the whole works."

I leaned back in my chair and looked at him.

Stanley was suddenly eager. He leaned toward me excitedly. "I'm tellin' you, Johnny, we'll clean up. With what you know about the picture company and what I know about the theaters, we'll make a fortune between us. We got the whole business by the b.a.l.l.s!" He held a match to the cigarette I had placed between my lips. "It won't be no time at all before we can crowd Kessler out!"

I drew deeply on my cigarette and looked at him, then I looked at his brother-in-law. The older man looked back at me steadily. His eyes were right on mine. "Mr. Roth, what business are you in?" I asked suddenly.

His voice was calm as he answered me. "The junk business."

My voice was as calm as his when I spoke. "Business must be pretty good if you can throw four million bucks into this."

He shrugged his shoulders. "It's not bad," he said noncommittally.

"It must be pretty good," I persisted.

"There was a lot of money in it during the war," he answered easily. "It's not quite that good now, but it's all right."

I was silent for a moment while I looked at both of them. Then I spoke again. "What do you think of a deal like this, Mr. Roth?"

He shrugged his shoulders, elaborately casual. "It sounds like a good one, Mr. Edge."

I waved my hand. "I'm not talking about the dollar-and-cents outlook, Mr. Roth. I'm talking about the moral aspect."

He smiled at me slowly. I could see a look of real warmth leap into his eyes. "The moral aspect is your concern, not mine, Mr. Edge." He put his hands on the table before him and looked at them. "What do you think about it?"

I was still leaning back in my chair, still casual in my movements, but I was surprised at the sudden savagery in my own voice. "I think it stinks to high heaven, Mr. Roth." I leaned forward and spoke to him. "And if you don't get that slimy rat away from my table I'll kill the little b.a.s.t.a.r.d with my bare hands!"

Stanley jumped to his feet. His face had gone white. His voice was hoa.r.s.e. "You mean to say you're not interested?" he shouted. "After letting me think you were?"