The Ghost of a Model T and Other Stories by Clifford D. Simak Read Free Book Online Page A

you a splendid opportunity to have first crack at a batch of top-notch material. It is, I dare say, one of the best sources you could find.”
    â€œAnd you’d sell all this stuff to me if I put in a word for you with Tony?”
    Griffin grinned happily. “You follow me exactly, Mr. Packer.”
    Packer snorted. “Follow you! I’m way ahead of you.”
    â€œNow, now,” cautioned Griffin, “you must not get the wrong impression. This is a business offer—a purely business offer.”
    â€œI suppose you’d expect no more than nominal payment for all this waste paper I would be taking off your hands.”
    â€œVery nominal,” said Griffin.
    â€œAll right, I’ll think about it and I’ll let you know. I can’t promise you a thing, of course.”
    â€œI understand, Mr. Packer. I do not mean to rush you.”
    After Griffin left, Packer sat and thought about it and the more he thought about it, the more attractive it became.
    He could rent a warehouse and install an Efficiency Basket in it and all he’d have to do would be dump all that junk in there and the basket would sort it out for him.
    He wasn’t exactly sure if one basket would have the time to break the selection down to more than just planetary groupings, but if one basket couldn’t do it, he could install a second one and between the two of them, he could run the classification down to any point he wished. And then, after the baskets had sorted out the more select items for his personal inspection, he could set up an organization to sell the rest of it in job lots and he could afford to sell it at a figure that would run all the rest of those crummy dealers clear out on the limb.
    He rubbed his hands together in a gesture of considerable satisfaction, thinking how he could make it rough for all those skinflint dealers. It was murder, he reminded himself, what they got away with; anything that happened to them, they had coming to them.
    But there was one thing he gagged on slightly. What Griffin had offered him was little better than a bribe, although it was, he supposed, no more than one could expect of the government. The entire governmental structure was loaded with grafters and ten percenters and lobbyists and special interest boys and others of their ilk. Probably no one would think a thing of it if he made the stamp deal—except the dealers, of course, and there was absolutely nothing they could do about it except to sit and howl.
    But aside from that, he wondered, did he have the right to interfere with Tony? He could mention it to him, of course, and Tony would say yes. But did he have the right?
    He sat and worried at the question, without reaching a conclusion, without getting any nearer to the answer until the door chimes sounded.
    It was the Widow Foshay and she was empty-handed. She had no broth today.
    â€œGood afternoon,” he said. “You are a little late.”
    â€œI was just opening my door to come over when I saw you had a caller. He’s gone now, isn’t he?”
    â€œFor some time,” said Packer.
    She stepped inside and he closed the door. They walked across the room.
    â€œMr. Packer,” said the Widow, “I must apologize. I brought no broth today. The truth of the matter is, I’m tired of making it all the time.”
    â€œIn such a case,” he said, very gallantly, “the treats will be on me.”
    He opened the desk drawer and lifted out the brand new box of PugAlNash’s leaf, which had arrived only the day before.
    Almost reverently, he lifted the cover and held the box out to her. She recoiled from it a little.
    â€œGo ahead,” he urged. “Take a pinch of it. Don’t swallow it. Just chew it.”
    Cautiously, she dipped her fingers in the box.
    â€œThat’s too much,” he warned her. “Just a little pinch. You don’t need a lot. And it’s rather hard to come by.”
    She