Diane shook her head, for the thousandth time. "We're not on the same wave-band. Why don't you give up?"
"When I go after a thing, I get it."
"I believe you," said Diane. "The trouble is, I operate the same way."
"What's a Mickey Mouse watch?" Barkway asked Brotherhood, the Captain's steward.
"Ask me another," said Brotherhood. "Why?"
"That blasted kid just offered to sell me one."
"All right," said Walham finally. He was in a very bad temper. "Four hundred. But it's plain robbery, let me tell you."
"Bunk," said Diane. "You're getting a bargain."
His eyes gleamed. It was his only prospect of making a profit. "It had better be."
"Congratulations," said Diane to Barry Greenfield. They had really become great friends during the past few days. "I hope it wasn't too much trouble."
"Oh, forget it!" answered Barry. "That's a deal, then?"
"Sure thing."
"When?"
"Now, if you like."
"Thirty-one years at sea," said Barkway. "And I thought I'd seen everything."
Suddenly, everyone started to say: "You know, I believe Barry Greenfield is actually improving."
4
"A very healthy situation," mumbled the Professor, indistinctly. It was clear that the phrase could not be applied to himself. He had a nine p.m. pallor and a very shaky enunciation; awkwardly coordinated, he kept dropping his pencil and strewing cigarette ash down his lapels. Carl, looking at him, thought: It was a mistake to have this meeting so late in the evening; we should have made it before lunch—before breakfast, even. But in truth, it was difficult to catch the Professor in good shape, at any hour of the day. "Very healthy indeed," went on the Professor, wiping the saliva from his lips. "Has anyone anything else to add, before I make up the figures?"
Louis, lounging back in his chair, smiled unpleasantly. "Sure you can make them up, Prof?"
The Professor collected himself with an effort, and glared at his questioner: "What do you mean by that?"
"You know what I mean," said Louis. "Better let me do the adding up."
"I am perfectly capable—" began the Professor.
"O.K.," interrupted Carl irritably. "Let's not make a production out of it. You heard what he said, Louis. Have you got anything else to give him?"
"Sure I've got something," answered Louis. "Steady income, that's me." But he was not particularly proud of the statement, and it showed in the way he looked round the cabin, as if daring anyone to make any sort of comment. "Another five hundred for this week. That's fifteen hundred altogether."
The Professor wrote it down laboriously in his account-book, while they all watched him, and Kathy, sitting in her armchair outside the immediate circle, took a sip of her coffee and wondered if they would get through the meeting without some sort of explosion. Once again, she herself had nothing to contribute; everyone in the room was already aware of this; it was a question as to whether Carl could head off criticism of the fact. It was a question, indeed, whether he wanted to.
The Professor, stumbling over the simple words, asked: "Who was that from?"
"Mrs. Consolini," answered Louis.
Diane raised her head. "What's this Consolini deal?"
"You know what it is," said Louis, edgily. "Five hundred a week."
"How long for?"
"For ever."
Diane raised her eyebrows. "For that, she gets exclusive rights, huh? You're certainly playing it safe!"
"Just try and do better."
"I have done better," said Diane. She turned abruptly. "Take it down, Professor. Walham, four hundred dollars. Greenfield, two hundred."
"Two hundred?" queried Louis, on the alert."Two? What's the good of that? Hell, Greenfield's a rich man!"
"He's not that rich," answered Diane. She really could not correct the mistake. "Anyway, that was the best I could do with him. There've been a couple of others as well," she told the Professor. "Another three hundred altogether. Total, nine hundred." She reached into her handbag, and took out a roll of bills. "Here it is."
"Store prices," said Louis contemptuously. "Four different guys for nine hundred bucks. Is that what they mean by a quick turnover?"
"So what's wrong with store prices?" Diane came back at him. "Hell, I'mworkingl One of those guys—I can't even remember his name—was the quickest deal you ever saw in your life. I swear to God, I was back on the dance-floor in twenty minutes. Do you do any better than that?"
"I'm not in the taxi business," said Louis.
"You're damn' right, you're not," said Diane angrily. "Five hundred a week for lighting cigarettes and running errands! Don't you try and tell me who's earning their living. We might just open a can of worms."
Carl raised his hand. He should have intervened earlier, he knew, but he was not in an intervening mood. As a team, these two were doing well enough; he could not really quarrel with any of the figures, though it might be said that Diane was cutting down on the prices—operating almost legally, in fact—and that Louis had promoted himself into a curious and not particularly appropriate role. But certainly they were showing results, they were both staying ahead of the game.
The same could not be said for the rest of the team. As far as poker was concerned, he was in the doldrums, hanging on to his substantial winnings but not adding to them. It was not that he was playing badly, or holding worse cards, but simply that, as a school, they were finding out too much about each other's play, and learning caution in all circumstances. It was now a tighter game altogether, and thus a less profitable one.
After himself came the Professor, a licensed non-earner who was squandering every cent of his allowance at the bar; and after the Professor came Kathy, who had attained no category of any sort. Carl was not angry with her on that score. He had tried, and failed, to analyse exactly what he felt. Of course it was a disappointment, of course the rest of the team were carrying her; but perhaps, if it made her happy, he could afford to let it go on. It meant, at least, that she was not wandering into danger, that he need not feel he was sharing her with anyone. The other two, however, were entitled to resent it, and it was this that made him wary of applying pressure or discipline of any sort. He could hardly tell Diane that the time had come to step up the prices, when Kathy had no prices to show at all. . . . Now, commanding their silence, he said mildly:
"Let's take it easy. You've both done well. Professor, give us the figures."
"By all means, Carl." The Professor shuffled through his papers, focusing and refocusing his rheumy eyes. "You yourself are the winner, the very big winner." He smiled vaguely and ingratiatingly at Carl; he knew that he was not distinguishing himself, and that consequently he might need a friend. "You are fifteen thousand dollars ahead—fifteen thousand, one hundred, to be preshise— precise. Diane's total is now three thousand, nine hundred. That includes what she has just given me. Louis, three thousand,eight hundred—"
"Hey!" said Louis. "Hold on! How do you figure that?"
The Professor blinked at him. "You mean, you would like the figures broken down into their various categories?"
"I would like," said Louis, savagely copying his careful pronunciation, "to know how in hell you get that total. It's 'way out, by my reckoning."
"One moment." The Professor peered shortsightedly at his book, and at the small mound of papers lying by its side. He was not necessarily in difficulties, but it was not a good moment for close calculation. Today had been a long day, like all other days; by rights he should have been installed in the Tapestry Bar, digesting his dinner, talking at ease to a rapt audience who were enthralled by his views on literature, scholarship, the things of the mind. . . . "One moment, if you please. I certainly have the exact figures here— somewhere—" his voice tailed off as he scrabbled among his papers.