Bagombo Snuff Box by Kurt Vonnegut Read Free Book Online

placed
her hand over her heart. Her eyes rolled, and she started to sink to the floor.
    “Darling!” The Colonel caught her about the waist.
    “Please—” she gasped.
    “A stimulant!” commanded the Colonel. “Brandy! Anything!”
    Hurty, unnerved, fetched a decanter and poured a shot.
    The Colonel’s wife forced some between her lips, and the
roses returned to her cheeks.
    “More, darling?” the Colonel asked.
    “A sip,” she whispered.
    When she’d finished it off, the Colonel sniffed the glass. “By
George, but that’s got a lovely bouquet!” He held out the glass to Hurty, and
Hurty filled it.
    “Jove!” said the Colonel, savoring, sniffing. “First-rate.
Mmm. You know, it’s a vanishing race that has the patience really to know the
exquisite things in life. With most, it’s gulp, gulp, and they’re off on some
mad chase again.”
    “Sure,” said Hurty.
    “Better, dear?” the Colonel asked his wife.
    “Much. You know how it is. It comes and goes.”
    I watched the Colonel take a book from the shelves. He
looked in the front, possibly to make sure it was a first edition. “Well, Mr.
Hurty,” he said, “I think it must show in our eyes how much we like the place.
There are some things we’d change, of course, but by and large—”
    Hurty looked to me.
    I cleared my throat. “Well,” I lied, “there are a number of
people very interested in this property, as you might expect. I think you’d
better make your offer official as soon as possible, if it’s really to your
liking.”
    “You aren’t going to sell it to just anybody, are you?” said
the Colonel.
    “Certainly not!” lied Hurty, trying to recapture some of the
élan he had lost during the labyrinth and brandy episodes.
    “Well,” said the Colonel, “the legal end can be handled
quickly enough when the time comes. But first, if you don’t mind, we’d like to
get the feel of the place—get the newness out of it.”
    “Yes, of course, certainly,” said Hurty, slightly puzzled. “Then
you don’t mind if we sort of wander about a bit, as though it were already
ours?”
    “No, I guess not. I mean, certainly not. Go right ahead.”
    And the Peckhams did, while I waited, fidgeting in the
living room, and Hurty locked himself in his study. They made themselves at
home all afternoon, feeding the horses carrots, loosening the earth about the
roots of plants in the greenhouse, drowsing in the sun by the swimming pool.
    Once or twice I tried to join them, to point out this feature
or that, but they received me as though I were an impertinent butler, so I gave
it up.
    At four, they asked a maid for tea, and got it—with little
cakes. At five, Hurty came out of his study, found them still there, covered
his surprise admirably, and mixed us all cocktails.
    The Colonel said he always had his man rub the inside of martini
glasses with garlic. He asked if there was a level spot for polo.
    Mrs. Peckham discussed the parking problems of large
parties, and asked if there was anything in the local air that was damaging to
oil paintings.
    At seven, Hurty, fighting yawns, excused himself, and
telling the Peck-hams to go on making themselves at home, he went to his
supper. At eight, the Peckhams, having eddied about Hurty and his meal on their
way to one place or another, announced that they were leaving.
    They asked me to drop them off at the town’s best
restaurant.
    “I take it you’re interested?” I said.
    “We’ll want to talk a little,” said the Colonel. “The price
is certainly no obstacle. We’ll let you know.”
    “How can I reach you, Colonel, sir?”
    “I’m here for a rest. I prefer not to have anyone know my
whereabouts, if you don’t mind. I’ll call you.”
    “Fine.”
    “Tell me,” said Mrs. Peckham. “How did Mr. Hurty make his
money?”
    “He’s the biggest used-car salesman in this part of the
state.”
    “Aha!” said the Colonel. “I knew it! The whole place had the
air of new money about