Nothing in Her Way - By Charles Williams Page 0,1
watch. “I’d like to, but I’ve got to run. Man I was supposed to meet—”
His face fell in on itself. “Oh, shoot. You’ve got time for just one, haven’t you?” he asked earnestly. “You can’t go off without me buying you that drink, after you bought me one.”
It was something about those open blue eyes, I guess. You just couldn’t destroy his faith in the people he picked up in bars. “O.K.,” I said. “Just a quick one.”
We carried our drinks over and sat down. The seats were leather-upholstered, with high backs. He started to light a cigarette, and then said, “Excuse me.”
“How’s that?” I asked.
“Oh.” He looked at me blankly. “I thought I kicked your foot.” He leaned down sideways a little and peered under the edge of the table. “I see what it was, I think. Looks like there’s something lying there on the floor.”
“There is?” I asked, without much interest.
“Uh-huh. Wait a minute. Maybe I can reach it.” He leaned down farther and grunted. “Nope. Can’t quite make it. I tell you. Push your right foot a little, straight ahead.”
I shoved the foot, and then he grunted again. “Now I got it.” He straightened up, his face red. “Le’s see what it is.” He stopped, and his mouth dropped open. “Say, Belen, look at this!”
It was a wallet, an expensive-looking job, and from the thick bulge of it there was plenty in it. But by now I wasn’t looking at the wallet. I was looking at him, and remembering the way that glass had happened to get in the way of my elbow. No, I thought. Nobody could dream up a character like this.
His voice had dropped to an awe-struck whisper. “Holy smoke, Belen! Twenties, fifties…Boy, there’s a wad in this!” Almost unconsciously, he had hitched his shoulder around so the wallet was hidden from the rest of the bar.
“Any name in it?” I asked.
“That’s a good idea,” he said excitedly. “Maybe we can find the guy and give it back to him. Le’s see.” He nodded. “Here it is. J. B. Brown, Springfield. Can’t make out the name of the state.”
“That ought to be a cinch,” I said. “Just try Illinois, Ohio, and Massachusetts, and then work your way down to the others.”
He looked at me with innocent helplessness. “That many Springfields? What you think we ought to do?”
“I don’t know,” I said. I was still just waiting. “You have any ideas?”
“No-o,” he answered. “Except that we ought to try to return it. Wouldn’t be honest to—well, just keep it, would it?”
“No,” I said. “Of course not. Unless you just couldn’t find anybody named Brown living in Springfield.”
“Maybe you’re right. If we keep it for—say a reasonable length of time, and he didn’t come forward to claim it, I’d say it would be perfectly honest for us to divide it up.”
Well, I thought, I’ll be a sad son. There wasn’t any doubt of it now. I began to burn a little. Was he stupid, or new at it, or what? I knew I didn’t look like somebody who’d go for it.
Maybe the thing to do was ride along with him just for the laughs. “What do you mean, divide it up?” I said. “You found it. I didn’t.”
He shook his head. “No, by golly. You were right here with me, and you pushed it over where I could reach it. We both share in it. That is,” he added hastily, “if Brown doesn’t show up to claim it. Say, I think I’ve figured out a way we can handle it. There’s an old boy over at this little hotel where I’m staying, he works in a bank and he’s as honest as the day is long. We’ll let him hold it for us. And then, if nobody claims it, we’ll split it right down the middle. How’s that?”
“Sounds fine to me,” I said.
“Good.” He nodded, and then paused, a little uncertainly. “But there’s one thing.”
“What’s that?” I asked, knowing very well what it was.
“Well, it’s just in case Brown should show up later. I mean, to sort of prove good faith, and financial responsibility, in case we did have to give it back later on, I think each of us ought to be able to show cash of his own equal to his part of it.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I see what you mean. Something like a bond, to prove we could pay it back if we had to. We give it to your friend to hold,