ncy. All the slicker art agencies were after him, that's how
good he was. We'd made the highest bid for him but he still had this bug
in his noodle for free-lancing, which showed he had more business sense
than the rest of his ilk but which wasn't doing my position at the
agency any good. I'd been joed to bag him.

Which was why I hesitated and reconsidered the impulse to brush him off.
This was the first time he had definitely asked to see me. Sunday
midnight is one hell of a time to suddenly decide to see a dogging
agent, but like I said Willy was neurotic. So I just tested the impulse.

"Well, Willy," I said, "I'm pretty busy at the moment looking after the
interests of the agency artists. They always come first, you know. Could
it wait--"

"Jim, I've got to see you. It's--It's driving me nuts trying to figure
out what to do."

"Tax trouble? Or maybe one of your models?"

"No, nothing like that. Listen. Will you come over tonight?"

I let my instincts juggle the stress between pleasure and business. Both
were practical, well-balanced personal interests. The thunderous night
was young and the lady had nice earlobes and my apartment had that
feeling about it. On the other hand the little fair-haired artist was in
a jam and if I played fairy godmom bigger and better apartments and
earlobes were in the offing from the agency.

So I made the mistake of my life.

I said, "I'll be there in half an hour," and hung up.

"_Jim_-mee," the lady said. She was pouting, so I pinched her earlobe
and patted her shoulders and bemoaned the tyranny of the business world
and helped her into her coat. She went back to her own apartment. I
tidied up the place, stacked the etchings in their corner, and took a
cab outside.

* * * * *

I tossed that part of it in to make it clear that on the face and the
underneath of it I could be readily classed as a normal, practical sort
of a guy.

I am. I shun unnatural, illogical things, like mysteries, or falsies, or
counterfeit bills. Or fourth dimensions. I like an item right on the
table where I can eye it and touch it and say, "That's a spade," or,
"That's a buck." If there's water on Mars I'll believe it when I drink
it, but until then I'll say, "So what's with Mars? It's one hell of a
long way off."

You see what I'm driving at? With me, James Gilbert Crisp, things are
either down to earth or they're nowhere. I'd never admit messing around
with some