“I would, anyway.”
“Okay, but lean on it.”
“Mr. Garrett, greetings, sir.”
“Jim, I’ve heard of you, and nothing but good.”
Then Sam Dent came in, and Mr. Garrett at once took him into one of the offices to talk. But when they came out, he looked worried. Then at last came a character who had to be seen to be believed, and even then he didn’t look real. He was about fifty, with white hair, white eyebrows, and white goatee, as well as a white sharkskin suit, white shoes, and an old-fashioned Panama hat, and he carried a gold-headed cane. Here was the genuine article, a Southern colonel with so much honesty shining out of his face that I wouldn’t have trusted him — and no sensible person would — any farther than I could throw him.
“Colonel Lucas,” exclaimed Downing, first bowing and then shaking hands; “I give you Mr. Richard Garrett, the Mr. Richard Garrett!”
“Mr. Garrett,” said the colonel, “the pleasure of this moment is surpassed only by its memorable nature, from the honor it accords me.” Or “accowds me,” actually, to report it as it sounded.
“Colonel Lucas,” said Mr. Garrett, “I reciprocate the sentiments you express, if not in such felicitous words, then in equal uplift of spirit. I have long looked forward to this honor.”
His face was also glowing with honesty — or, at least, with something. The two men went into Downing’s office, closed the door, and left the rest of us to twiddle our thumbs. Dent came over, and we shook hands. “Will you be seeing Mrs. Garrett soon?” he said. “Like, for instance, tonight?”
“I hadn’t expected to. Why?”
“He pays attention to what she says. You could put the bug in her bonnet to talk him out of this thing.”
“You mean Bagastex?”
“Yeah, Bagastex.”
“But what do I know about it? And what do you?”
“I know plenty about it.”
He started talking about how Bagastex had flopped and how ARMALCO was heading for trouble in loading itself down with such a headache. I interrupted to say that I was partly responsible, since I had tipped Mr. Garrett off to the deal, and besides, I felt that it tied in with the Institute I was starting. Sam kept shaking his head, but then the door of Downing’s office flew open and there was the colonel, his hat in one hand and his cane in the other, his hair falling down on his shoulders. “Sir,” he bellowed back toward the office, “what do you take me for? That you would insult me so?” Mr. Garrett strolled out, cool, calm, and friendly. “Colonel,” he said quietly, “I take you for a peach, a beautiful Georgia peach that’s been skinned, the slipperiest object yet created by God. You are beautiful. You are skinned. Bagastex saw to that. And you are slippery. That, you have to admit.”
“I do not admit any such thing. And I resent your remowk.”
“I was just being funny.”
“I see nothing funny about it.”
“Trying to be funny, let us say.”
“I demand an apowlogy from you.”
“I apologize.”
“What has been said is not so easily unsaid.”
“It’s the insidious way I work.”
“Then you still mean that I am ‘slippery’?”
“I still mean that you were skinned — by Bagastex, its investors, and all the investors’ friends. I still mean that you are broke and had better make a deal before the government takes you to the cleaners. I still mean enough cash to bail you out — of the building, on a three-for-one stock deal that will give you something to fall back on, and your retirement as president of Tombigvannah.”
“It is that condition, sir, which I regowd as an insult.”
“A compliment, you should call it. In my company, I’m the big bull elephant. You may not see the tusks—”
“I feel them, sir, in my ribs.”
“And in your company, you’re the bull. But there’s no room for two big bulls in an elephant herd. One of us has to give ground. So—”
He didn’t finish. Flinging his hat and cane on the typewriter table and slumping into the secretary’s chair, the colonel collapsed in tears, dropping his head on his chest and sobbing uncontrollably.
Downing turned to O’Connor with a gesture that meant things were settled. At first O’Connor looked surprised, but then he nodded. Mr. Garrett put his arm around the colonel and said to Sam Dent: “Get it on paper.”
“Mr. Garrett,” sobbed the colonel, “I truly thank you.”
“My privilege, sir; I assure you.”
The two of them followed Downing and Sam into Downing’s office and the door closed behind them.
11
The thing went on for an hour, with Downing at last popping out, a pencil between his teeth, to open the typewriter desk, put in paper with carbons, and begin pecking away, while Mr. Garrett and Sam Dent took turns popping out, whispering in Downing’s ear, and laying yellow legal pad worksheets beside him. Pretty soon Downing took the stuff he had typed back to his office, then came back out and closed the desk.
“Christ, what a night!” he said and started into his office again. But at that moment the outer door opened, and Hortense was standing there in a dark dress and green coat. Everyone seemed to know who she was and jumped up respectfully. They seemed almost excited. She saw me and waved a friendly, if baffled, greeting. Downing did it big, introducing himself and telling her: “Mr. Garrett’s in my office, Mrs. Garrett. He asked you to come down so you could look at a building he expects to acquire.”
“Oh, that!”
“He’s right in there.”
But before Downing could escort her in, the door opened and Mr. Garrett, Dent, and the colonel came out. Each of them had a piece of typewritten paper and they all acted friendly. When Mr. Garrett saw Hortense he kissed her and said how pretty she looked, which caused twinges to go through me. He let her say hello to Sam and then presented the colonel whose finest hour it now turned out to be. He bent over, kissed her hand, and said: “Mrs. Garrett, the honor, the privilege, the thrill I feel at last, to meet a lady I have heard about, every word of it praise, completely overwhelms me.”
Hortense dropped a curtsey, crossing her hands on her heart and bowing low. “Colonel Lucas,” she said, “the honor is mine. I’ll cherish its memory always.”
She straightened up, and Mr. Garrett gave it a hand, which I wished he hadn’t done; it made her curtsey seem phoney. He said: “Hortense, I thought before things are made final tomorrow, you would like to look at the building I’ve bought, the one Dr. Palmer picked for your institute.”
“Tonight? Just like that?”
“Well, why not?”
“It’s an odd time to be taking a look, but—”
“It’s only nine o’clock.”
“Then let’s get it over with. Who are these gentlemen?”
He introduced them, and I could see her, out of force of habit, memorizing the names. Then we all went out into the hall, piled into an elevator, and went downstairs. We had to take three cabs to the building. When Hortense, Mr. Garrett, and I arrived, O’Connor was there ahead of us, waiting with the watchman and his flashlight to show us through. But Mr. Garrett had the cab stop across the street. When he pointed to the building, Hortense caught her breath. “It’s beautiful, just beautiful,” she said reverently. And it certainly was. By moonlight, it showed up gray and ghostly, its proportions even more striking than they had been by day.