Bagombo Snuff Box by Kurt Vonnegut Read Free Book Online Page B

the ticket.”
    “I even got cigars for him.”
    “Pour it on. It’s all tax-deductible,” I cheered.
    Four nights later, she called me again to say that the
Peckhams were coming to dinner. “Why don’t you sort of casually drop in
afterward, and just happen to have an offer form with you?”
    “Have they mentioned any figures?”
    “Only that it’s perfectly astonishing what you can get for a
hundred thousand.”
    I set my briefcase down in the Hellbrunner music room after
dinner that evening. I said, “Greetings.”
    The Colonel, on the piano bench, rattled the ice in his
drink.
    “And how are you, Mrs. Hellbrunner?” I said. One glance told
me she had never in all her life been worse.
    “I’m fine,” she said hoarsely. “The Colonel has just been
speaking very interestingly. The State Department wants him to do some
troubleshooting in Bangkok.”
    The Colonel shrugged sadly. “Once more to the colors, as a civilian
this time.”
    “We leave tomorrow,” said Mrs. Peckham, “to close our place
in Philadelphia—”
    ‘And finish up at National Steel Foundry,” said the Colonel.
    “Then off to Bangkok they go,” quavered Mrs. Hellbrunner.
    “Men must work, and women must weep,” said Mrs. Peckham.
    “Yup,” I said.
    The next morning, the telephone was ringing when I unlocked
my office door.
    It was Mrs. Hellbrunner. Shrill. Not like old family at all.
“I don’t believe he’s going to Bangkok,” she raged. “It was the price. He was
too polite to bargain.”
    “You’ll take less?” Up to now, she’d been very firm about
the hundred-thousand figure.
    “Less?” Her voice became prayerful. “Lord—I’d take fifty to
get rid of the monster!” She was silent for a moment. “Forty. Thirty. Sell it!”
    So I sent a telegram to the Colonel, care of National Steel
Foundry, Philadelphia.
    There was no reply, and then I tried the telephone.
    “National Steel Foundry,” said a woman in Philadelphia.
    “Colonel Peckham, please.”
    “Who?”
    “Peckham. Colonel Bradley Peckham. The Peckham.”
    “We have a Peckham, B. C., in Drafting.”
    “Is he an executive?”
    “I don’t know, sir. You can ask him.”
    There was a click in my ear as she switched my call to Drafting.
    “Drafting,” said a woman.
    The first operator broke in: “This gentleman wishes to speak
to Mr. Peckham.”
    “Colonel Peckham,” I specified.
    “Mr. Melrose,” called the second woman, “is Peckham back
yet?”
    “Peckham!” Mr. Melrose shouted. “Shag your tail. Telephone!”
    Above the sound of room noises, I heard someone ask, “Have a
good time?”
    “So-so,” said a vaguely familiar, faraway voice. “Think we’ll
try Newport next time. Looked pretty good from the bus.”
    “How the hell do you manage tony places like that on your salary?”
    “Takes a bit of doing.” And then the voice became loud, and
terribly familiar. “Peckham speaking. Drafting.”
    I let the receiver fall into its cradle.
    I was awfully tired. I realized that I hadn’t had a vacation
since the end of the war. I hai to get away from it all for a little while, or
I would go mad. But Delahanty hadn’t come through yet, so I was stone broke.
    And then I thought about what Colonel Bradley Peckham had
said about Newport. There were a lot of nice houses there—all beautifully
staffed, furnished, stocked, overlooking the sea, and for sale.
    For instance, take this place—the Van Tuyl estate. It has almost
everything: private beach and swimming pool, polo field, two grass tennis courts,
nine-hole golf course, stables, paddocks, French chef, at least three
exceptionally attractive Irish parlor maids, English butler, cellar full of vintage
stuff—
    The labyrinth is an interesting feature, too. I get lost in
it almost every day. Then the real estate agent comes looking for me, and he
gets lost just as I find my way out. Believe me, the property is worth every
penny of the asking price. I’m not going to haggle about it, not