The mailtube popped while he was blaspheming Dworcas and the salesman who had flattered him into buying the secretary. He eagerly fished the letter from its hopper, but when he caught sight of the return address he dropped it unopened. The Scholarship Investors' Realization Corporation could have nothing of interest to say to him; he knew he owed them the money, and he knew by virtue of the law course they had paid for that they couldn't do anything drastic to make him pay.
Then there was nothing to do until someone showed up— this Bligh or the man from the sheriff's office. Sing hey for the life of a lawyer, gabbling at machines you naggingly suspected thought you were not so bright as they were.
The Sleepless Secretary said: "Sir or madam as the case may be. Gug-gug-gug. Regret to advise." Mundin kicked it savagely. It burped and said: "A gentleman is in the outer office, Mrs. Mundin."
"Come in!" Mundin yelled at the door. Then he said, "Oh, excuse me. Mr. Bligh?"
The man blinked at him and came in cautiously. He looked around and picked out a chair. He wore a hearing aid, Mundin noticed; perhaps that was why he cocked his head a little.
He said, "That's right; Norvell Bligh. I—uh—asked Mr. Dworcas if he could recommend a first-class attorney and he—uh—suggested you."
Mundin said aloofly, "What can I do for you?"
"Well." Bligh's eyes roamed nervously around the room. "My wife—that is, I would like to get some information on adoption. I have a step-daughter—my wife's daughter by her first marriage, you see—and, well, my wife thinks we should arrange about adopting her."
Good old Del Dworcas, Mundin thought savagely. He knows I belong to the Criminal Bar, and he goes right ahead ——He said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Bligh. I can't help you. You'll have to find a civil attorney to handle that for you."
Bligh touched the control of his hearing aid. "Beg pardon?"
"I said," Mundin enunciated loudly, "I—can't—do—it."
"Oh, I know you can't," Bligh said. "Mr. Dworcas explained that. But he said that the civil attorneys would charge an awful lot, and you—— That is, since you were a friend of his and I was a friend of his brother, it would be done on a friendly basis. All I need to know, really, is what to do. I don't think I'd have to have a lawyer in court, do you?"
Mundin pondered hopefully. "Maybe not." It was questionable practice, no doubt of it, and small thanks to Dworcas for getting him into it Still, if it was just a matter of advice and information—thank God, the corporation boys didn't have that sewed up yet.
He leaned back, covertly looking Bligh over. Not the most imposing figure he had seen, but tolerably well dressed, certainly not a deadbeat. He'd be some land of contract worker, no doubt, getting his regular pay, living in a G.M.L. house, suffering his wife's obvious nagging. Mundin said:
'Tell me the story. First of all, how much—? That is, the court will want to be sure you can earn enough to support the child."
"Well, I've been supporting her for three years. Excuse me, Mr. Mundin, but can we keep this short? I'm on my lunch hour, and Mr. Candella is very fussy about that."
"Certainly. Just give me the facts—age of the child, where the father is and so on."
Bligh coughed self-consciously. He said, "My name is Norvell Bligh. I'm an associate producer for General Recreations, in charge of Field Day procurement, mostly. My wife is named Virginia. She was married before I met her to a man named Tony Elliston. They—uh—didn't get along too well. It was a pretty tough experience for her. They had one daughter, Alexandra. Virginia and her first husband, they got divorced, but I understand he's dead now. Anyway, she got custody, complete. I have the papers here. Alexandra is ten now. Is that all?"
Mundin scribbled rapidly—purely pretense, since the Sleepless Secretary was recording the whole thing automatically. On second thought, he told himself, maybe not pretense at that. "That's enough for the time being," he said. "I'll have to look up—have to discuss this matter with one of my colleagues. If you would care to come back, say, Friday at this time? Fine."
As Bligh left, looking vaguely alarmed, the Sleepless Secretary told him. "Pending the receipt. Ow-woooz. Mrs. Mundin is out of town."
Mundin turned it off.
Two clients in one day, he thought wonderingly. Anything was possible. Perhaps he wouldn't, after all, have to let the factory reclaim the secretary and the Scholarship people garnishee his salary and the landlord toss him out on the street.
Perhaps.
Chapter Two
He didn't seem to be much of a lawyer, Norvie Bligh told himself on the way back to his office, but at least this fellow Mundin probably wouldn't charge much. Arnie had as much as promised him that; Arnie had said, "You go see my brother, Norvie. Del's quite an important man and, if you don't mind my saying so, one of the most powerful minds in government today. He'll put you on the track of somebody good. And he'll make the price right, too."
Anyway, who needed a legal eagle to put adoption papers through? The whole thing was pretty silly. If only Ginny weren't so touchy lately, you could explain to her that it was just an unwarranted expense, nobody was going to take Alexandra away from them; there wasn't even any question about inheriting if he died.
He tasted that for a moment. Virginia had certainly seemed to take that part of it seriously, he thought. She had mentioned it half a dozen times: "Don't forget to ask him about inheriting." And, of course, he had forgotten. Well, there would be another chance on Friday.
And you couldn't blame Virginia if she was a little, well, insecure. Life with that Tony must have been pure hell, living in Belly Rave from hand to mouth, no future, no security. That was why she was such a devoted wife now.
Of course she was a devoted wife now, he told himself.
Right now, though, the important thing was whether Candella was going to say anything about his being fifteen minutes late. Candella was pretty difficult lately. Of course, you couldn't blame him; he was naturally jumpy with the big fall Field Day coming up and all.
Of course you couldn't blame Candella. Of course you couldn't blame Virginia, or Arnie when his promises didn't jell, or Alexandra when she was a little touchy, like any ten-year-old, of course.
Of course you couldn't blame anybody for anything. Not if you were Norvell Bligh.
Fortunately, Candella didn't notice what time he came back from lunch. But in the middle of the afternoon his secretary came worriedly out to Norvie's desk and said, "Mr. Candella would like to discuss your Field Day program with you."
He went in with a feeling of uneasiness, well justified.
Old Man Candella slapped the papers down and roared:
"Bligh, maybe you think a Field Day is a Boy Scout rally where the kids shoot arrows and run footraces around the tennis court. Is that right? Maybe you think it's a Ladies' Aid pink tea. Maybe you just don't know what a Field Day is supposed to be, Bligh. Is that it?"
Norvie swallowed. "No, sir," he whispered.
" 'No, sir,'" Candella mimicked. " 'No, sir.' Well, if you do know what a Field Day is, why doesn't it show? Why isn't there at least one good, exciting idea in this whole bloody script? I take back that word 'bloody,' Bligh. I got to give you that, nobody would say this script was bloody. There might be some complaints in the other direction, but I guarantee there wouldn't be any complaints that there was too much blood." He jabbed at the program with a hairy forefinger. "Listen to this. 'Opening pageant: Procession of jeeps through gauntlet of spearmen. First spectacle. Fifty girl wrestlers versus fifty male boxers. First duet: Sixty-year-old men with blowtorches.' Ah, what's the use of going on? This is supposed to be the big event of the year, Bligh, did you know that? It isn't a Friday-night show in the off season. This is the one that counts. It's got to be special."