"Tell us about it. We know the world is made of many strange things. The perfect truth itself is strange."
"Well, he was drowned in a feeder stream."
"Nothing strange about that," said Dalton.
"It was what he was doing at the time, sir. He was hunting, if you can believe it."
"I do. And at what age did you start hunting?"
"Well, grandpa—my mother's father—started me young, and then he died, and Ma made me promise never to do it again, and I just haven't hunted since. And when she died, she left me the place up at Plaquemens, his place. Uh, he died of a heart attack. And, well, with the estate, the first mortgage on it, I went into business. I joined Dalton, Harrow, Petersen and Smith. And I don't hunt."
"You said 'it.' What's 'it'?"
"Oh, like a talent we have. I'd rather not discuss the subject."
"I'd rather you would."
"Well, sir, it's personal."
"I can see your reluctance. Both V. Rodefer and I can understand your reluctance. But we'd like you to trust us. As friends."
"As friends," said V. Rodefer Harrow III.
"As good friends," said Winthrop Dalton.
"I'd rather not, sir, it's really embarrassing."
"Friends shouldn't be embarrassed in front of friends," said Winthrop Dalton. "Are you embarrassed in front of me, V. Rodefer?"
"I'm too rich to be embarrassed," said V. Rodefer Harrow III.
"My apologies for V. Rodefer. He's from the coast. Please continue."
"Well, we have a special talent in our family. At least on my mother's side. It has to do with objects. It sounds simple, but it's really complicated, and its got a sordid history, and my mother made me promise never to pass it on. And it looks like I'm not going to because I don't have a son."
"We know that, but wouldn't you teach it to someone else?" asked Dalton.
"It's not something you can exactly teach. You can only teach it to certain persons, you know. Some people can tell where an object is by feel, and there's a certain hereditary thing at work here also, if you know what I mean."
"You've got the 'it' then?"
"Oh, yeah. Just as if my father's side had been De Chef."
Harrow's jowls jiggled in delight.
"Could you show it to us, the it, of course?" said Winthrop Dalton.
"Sure," said Hunt rising from the chair. He collected a piece of note paper, a pen, a calendar, popped them once lightly in an upturned palm and, then, announcing "the wastebasket there," flipped the pen sideways, then the calendar, and then with a skimming slash of his hand hurled the paper aloft. The pen, like a small spear, hit point first and rattled into the bottom of the metal pail. The calendar clunked in on a direct line, and the paper veered up, then around, settled to the right of the basket, and then leaned left and in.
"With the paper, it's the air. Paper is the most complicated. Like the real secret is your not working with constants. People only know it when they, say, fire a gun and there's a stiff cross breeze. I mean like twenty knots. Know what I mean? Or golfers on a muggy day, it's really got to be muggy though, and then they realize they're not working with a constant. It's really a form of sensitivity, knowing where everything is in relationship to everything else and its mass, of course. Most people consider air nothing, but it isn't. It's a thing. Like water or that desk. Air's a thing."
"This skill you have works with all objects?" asked Winthrop Dalton. V. Rodefer Harrow leaned forward over his paunch, the light shining on his tightly stretched dome.
"Sure."
"Let's go to a golf course," said Dalton. "For a friendly round."
"A thousand dollars a hole," said Harrow.
"I don't have—I hate to say it for a man in the market, but I don't have a thousand dollars."
"That's very typical of men in the market. How much do you have?"
"I have thirty-five, no, thirty-three cents. I bought a Danish. That's what I have."
"We'll play for that," said Harrow.
"I don't have greens fees."
"We'll take care of it. Do you have clubs? Never mind, we'll get you clubs. Don't think of yourself as poor just because you don't have money. We suffer reversals too, but the key to our 'it,' so to speak, is that we don't think of ourselves as poor. And we don't want you to either."
"Absolutely not," said V. Rodefer Harrow.
If it had not been these two particular men, Ferdinand De Chef Hunt would have been embarrassed to be out on the course with two men in vests and rolled up sleeves and street shoes.
Dalton had argued with the club pro over the price of rented clubs, something that would have withered Hunt's pride, if it had not been the Winthrop Dalton who had done it. Dalton asked for the cheapest balls.
When Dalton teed off on the par four 425-yard first hole, he sliced viciously into underbrush that lined Lake Ponchartrain. He delayed other starts behind him for twenty minutes while looking for the ball, even though he found two others in the process.
Young Hunt drove a not quite respectable 165 yards, but the drive was ruler-straight down the fairway. The breeze off the lake invigorated him. The grass was freshly cut and smelled good, the sun was warm and Ferdinand De Chef Hunt forgot about the stock market as completely as he could.
His second shot was 150 yards, again straight down the fairway, and V. Rodefer Harrow, riding in the cart, commented that he wasn't seeing anything impressive. Then Hunt hit his six iron a looping long, perfect parabola directly at the pin.
"Whew," whistled Harrow.
"Ah," said Dalton.
"Easy," said Hunt. He tapped in a two-inch putt for a par four.
"We each owe you thirty-three cents," said Dalton. "That's sixty-six cents." He had Harrow count the change out of his pocket.
"Let's play for sixty-six cents each. I want to get my money back," said Dalton. "Don't you, V. Rodefer?"
"Absolutely," said Harrow, who had scored a nine with cheating. Dalton had a seven with a good putt.
The next was another par four, which Hunt made with identical shots, including a four-inch putt after a magnificent six kon.
"Now you've got a dollar thirty-two. Let's go for double or nothing."
"This is a par three, 170 yards. I'm super on those," said Hunt.
"Let's see how super."
Super was a birdie two, and Hunt found himself playing for $2.64 on the next hole. As they went down fairways and on to putting greens, his new friends asked him about the "it," each time doubling the bet and saying they had to have a chance to get back their money. By the seventh hole they were playing for $42.24, and Hunt was positively expansive with his new friends.
His mother, he told them, had made him promise never to use the "it" for a living because of the sordid past of the talent. The talent was not always used in sporting events. Originally it had been used with knives and guns for profit. De Chef was an old French name. It went, back to a servant in the court of Louis XIV. The servant was an assistant chef, but to give him the right to kill royalty, the king had to make him royalty. The whole thing came about when an Oriental murderer—there was no other word for it—came to the court at the request of the king. Hunt didn't know how much history Dalton and Harrow knew, but at that time the Sun King, as Louis was called, was having trouble with the lords. He wanted to unify the nation. Well, this murderer took some sort of a dislike to France. He wasn't a Chinaman was the only description that had been passed down in the De Chef family. But he didn't like France. And the king who had a lot of respect—well, it was probably fear—said he would pay a large amount of money to this guy to teach a few of his loyal lords some of what he could do. The Oriental was supposed to be amazing.