Rat race betting scene card
Instead of my painfully familiar freckled face and skinny frame, I saw a red, full jowled face with bags beneath the watery blue eyes, set on a distinctly portly body which was cleverly camouflaged as burliness by impeccable tweeds of the kind specially made up in London for the American broker's trade. What happened to Frank Jacklin? Or is that part of the gag?
He was at Kwajalein with me, now that I think of it. A skinny sort of s. Where is he? Oh, he got another half-stripe last January and was given some screw-ball assignment which took him out of touch. He'll turn up sooner or later, without a scratch; those New Dealers always do.
What did he ever do to you, anyhow? Ever since I've known you, you've always been griping about him, specially since he got into uniform. Lay off, will you, and give us honest hard-drinking guys a chance to get a breath. Whatever had happened to me since the thorium bomb burst off Adak, this was Scotch and it was cold, so I doubted that this place was Hell. Probably it was all a dream in the last split-second of disintegration. Now I've got to be going. You ought to stop chasing at your age and blood-pressure or let your friends in on the secret.
He was the one that had distemper so bad, wasn't it, sir? I remember you told me that he was expected to die any minute. Well, now, the vet says he will recover. The second call, sir, was from Mrs. She asked if you had left for your home. I said that you hadn't been in all day, but that I would deliver any messages. Let's figure this one out. We were blown up on the Alaska, off the westernmost Aleutians, and now we find ourselves at the Pond Club, in New York City, masquerading in the flabby body of Winnie Tompkins.
This must be Purgatory, since nobody who has ever been there would call the Pond—or, as the initiates prefer, the Puddle—either Heaven or Hell. This is one of those damned puzzles designed to test our intelligence.
My cue is to turn in the best and most convincing performance as Winnie Tompkins, who has undoubtedly been sent to Hell. If we pass, we'll be like the rats the scientists send racing through mazes: we'll get the cheese and move on up. If we flunk, we'll be sent down, as the English say.
Ingenious deity, the Manager! There I was: Winfred S. Sturgis Tompkins. Born, New York City, April 27, Mark's School, Southboro, Mass. Harvard, A. Office: No. Then I reached inside my coat and pulled out the well-stuffed pocket-book I found inside the suave tweeds.
It was of ostrich-hide with W. So far, so good. My sense of identity was building up rapidly. I felt in my trousers' pocket and found a bunch of keys and about a dollar and a half in silver. I peeled a five-dollar bill from the roll in the pocket-book and handed it to the club steward. If anyone calls, you haven't seen me all day.
I strolled out to the street—dusk was beginning to darken the city and already there were lights burning in the office windows—and walked across to the corner of Park Avenue. To my surprise, remembering New York, there were few taxis and those were already occupied.
After about five minutes of vain waiting, I remembered reading somewhere of the cab shortage in the United States, and walked south to Grand Central. As I turned down Vanderbilt Avenue, I noticed something fairly bulky in the pocket of my overcoat. I stopped and dragged out two expensively tidy packages, with the Tiffany label on them.
One was inscribed "For Jimmie" and the other "For Virginia. The one marked for "Jimmie"—who might be, I guessed, my wife Germaine—was a neat little solid gold bracelet, the sort of thing you give your eldest niece on graduation day.
The one marked "Virginia" contained a diamond-brooch of the kind all too rarely given to a girl for any good reason. Whoever "Virginia" might be, she was obviously not my wife and the Social Register had not mentioned any children, ex-wives or such appertaining to Winnie Tompkins.
And you don't give diamonds to your aged aunt or your mother-in-law. We can't have Winnie start off his new life by palming off mere gold on his wedded wife and diamonds on the Other Woman, I decided. So I switched the labels on the packages and returned to circulation in time to catch the Westchester Express. Here, I resorted to a low subterfuge. Instead of the broker's bible, "The New York Sun," with its dim view of all that had happened to the commuting public since , I was coward enough to disguise myself by buying a copy of "P.
I buried my face in that spirited journal, with its dim view of all that had ever happened outside the Soviet Union, as I slunk past the Club Car, and did not fully emerge from its gallant defense of the Negro and the Jew until I was in the smoker, directly behind the baggage compartment.
The train was fairly crowded but I was able to find a seat far forward where few passengers could see my face. I decided that my strategy had been sound when the conductor, on punching my ticket, remarked: "See you're not using the Club Car today, Mr. Shall I tell Mr. Snyder not to wait for you for gin rummy? I was lucky enough to reach Bedford Hills without other encounters and walked along the darkened platform until I spied a taxicab. Glad to," he replied.
I'm too damned tired to drive home. Got any other passengers? You can drive me on to Pook's Hill after you've left them at the Milgrim's. Perhaps they'd get in trouble if they were delayed. I climbed into the cab, across the rather shapely legs and domestic laps of two attractive-looking girls who murmured vaguely at me and then resumed a discussion of the awful cost of hair-do's.
I felt rather pleased with myself. I seemed to have won at least one man's approval in the opening stages of my celestial rat-race. Now for my first meeting with the woman whom I had married nearly ten years ago, according to the Social Register. Surely she would recognize that there was something radically wrong with her husband before I had been five minutes at Pook's Hill. I wouldn't know where the lavatory was, let alone her bedroom, and what should I call the maid who answered the door, assuming we had a maid?
A pretty, dark-haired maid opened the door of "Pook's Hill" with a twitch of the hip that was wasted on Bedford Hills. Tompkins you are here? She looked at me slant-eyed. She must have forgotten to eat an apple this morning. That's why. Suburban maids were named Mary as often as not. Tompkins," she replied, and did not bother to add the "as well you know" she implied.
And where, Mary, shall I leave my hat and coat? Come, I'll lend a hand. You've been drinking again. Tompkins," she said sarcastically, so I rewarded her with a half-hearted smack which brought the requisite "Oh! That sort of thing must stop, if I was going to get anywhere in my run through the maze. Too abrupt a change in the manners and morals of Winfred Tompkins, however, might arouse suspicion. The kennels telephoned to say that Ponto had made a miraculous recovery and could come home tomorrow.
I had them send word to the Club to tell you. And Mrs. Tompkins, as I said, forgot to eat her apple. This was a cue. I mustn't miss it. I should say not! Tompkins felt quite unsettled right after lunch and phoned Dr. Rutherford to come over. He's with her now, upstairs, giving her an examination.
Tompkins most discreetly, if you know what I mean, that I have returned and am waiting in my—" I waved vaguely at the room. There was a field-stone fireplace, over which the antlered head of a small stag presided with four upturned feet—like a calf in a butcher shop—that held two well dusted shotguns.
The walls were lined with books up to a dado—books in sets, with red morocco and gilt bindings: Dickens, Thackeray, Surtees, Robert Louis Stevenson, Dumas, Balzac and similar standard authors—all highly respectable and mostly unread. On the table, beside a humidor and cigarette cases, was a formidable array of unused pipes.
Above the shelves, the walls were adorned with etchings of ducks: ducks sitting, ducks swimming, ducks nesting, ducks flying and ducks hanging dead. It was as though Winnie's conscience or attorney had advised him: "You can't go wrong on ducks, old boy! In one corner of the den my unregenerate Navy eye discerned a small portable bar, with gleaming glasses, decanters and syphons.
Further investigation was rewarded by the makings of a very fair Scotch-and-soda. Still, any cigarette is better than no cigarette. A little mooching around the fireplace revealed the switch which turned on an electric fire, ingeniously contrived to represent an expensive Manhattan architect's idea of smouldering peat. The whole effect was very cosy in the "Town and Country" sense—a gentleman's gun-room—and I had settled down most comfortably on the broad leather divan in front of this synthetic blaze when I was interrupted by an angry, tenor voice.
Rutherford, I presume! Who else did you expect? One of those flashy blondes from your office? What have you done with her? The glass of Scotch was a good alibi for amnesia. She's your look-out, not mine. She was wearing something low-cut in black velvet, with a white cameo brooch at the "V" of a bodice which suggested a potentially undemure Quakeress.
I noticed that she had angry eyes, a sulky mouth and a puzzled expression. Rutherford began, only to be hushed by Germaine. He's tight. I'll phone you in the morning. And don't come back to my house without my personal invitation. Rutherford emitted a muttered comment and disappeared into the gloom of the hall. My wife followed him and I could hear a series of confused and comforting whispers sending him on his way. I had finished my Scotch and poured myself another before my wife rejoined me.
You see, Winnie, after we had talked it all over the other night after the Bond Rally Dance and realized how we felt about it all, the four of us decided to be—well—civilized about things. And now—" "I don't feel civilized about my wife," I said, pouring her a stiff one. Her eyes glittered and her cheek was tinged with color. In spite of her anger, she responded to the idea of male brutes contesting for her favor. After all, there is Virginia. I can't help it," I added boyishly.
She leaned forward and sniffed. Today, in town, I suddenly realized what a damn fool I'd been to throw away something really fine for something very second-rate. So I drank. Too much. And the more I drank the more I knew that I was right and that it was here where I belong, with you.
If you don't want me to stay, I'll go over to the Country Club for the night. I'll even phone Jerry Rutherford for you—him and his moustache—but I'm damned if I'll go running back to Virginia. She's not pukka! All of us. If you want that tenor tonsil-snatcher, you're welcome to him but I'm damned if I'll be a good sport about it.
If you insist, I'll buy you a divorce, but I won't marry Virginia—that's final! She smiled. Now was the time to play the trump card. What's the matter? Nothing at all. It's just that you should have decided to give me—on her birthday—a brooch with her initials in diamonds. See them! I should have guessed there would be something wrong with the set-up and I kicked myself for not having bothered to trace out the monogram.
Some time back, when we were considering all this civilized swapping of husbands and wives, I put in the order at Tiffany's for Virginia's birthday present. Today, when I picked it up, the clerk smirked at me—he knows your initials don't begin with V—and I suddenly knew I couldn't go ahead with the whole business. So I brought the brooch back to you as a trophy, if you want it.
You can do what you like about it. It's yours. You see, Jimmie," I added, "that's the way things are. I'm burning all my bridges. Then after a long pause, she added, "Ah! I think I'll just take this back to Tiffany's and get something else. I guess It was Myrtle-Mary. She handed it back to me. I haven't been happy and I did make a few passes. From now on, I'll try to be a bit more decent and livable. God knows I have plenty to be ashamed of, but nothing disgraceful I hope. She picked up the receiver and listened for a moment, frowning.
I've been waiting for you since three o'clock. In our place. In New York. Winnie, what's wrong? In fact, I know I can't go through with it. You see, Winnie, I've been talking to your friends. Johnny Walker, Black Label, that's what went down. At the Pond Club. Tommy Morgan told me all about it. You went to the Pond, had too much to drink, woke up about four o'clock—one whole hour after you had promised to meet me—and woke up talking wildly and then staggered out.
Now I find you're back in Bedford Hills, and it—it's my birthday—" The voice ended in a choke which might have been a sob or a paroxysm of feminine fury. I summoned the old voice of authority, as inculcated at Quonset, into the well-tanned vocal chords of Winfred Tompkins. I'm sorry I stood you up but things have been happening. I just can't go through with it.
I'll explain when I see you. When I turned around, my wife was smiling, with a glint in her eye which was far from sympathetic. You haven't got a chance. Now that we've got the wraps off I wish you'd tell me what you really think of me and Virginia.
Tompkins' nostrils flickered slightly. There never was a thing in pants, up to and including scarecrows, that she wouldn't carry the torch for. When she married Jerry Rutherford it was a great relief to her relatives. She had no friends. If you weren't so stinking rich you'd—well, I don't know. There's something about you that's—Well, after you bought me from my parents, I wanted to kill myself and then I sized you up.
There's no real harm in you, Winnie, it's not hard to like you, but you never were love's young dream. That Hollywood doctor type with the swank suburban practice and the soft bedroom manner gets me down. He has only three ideas in the world and all of them begin with 'I'. After the first antiseptic raptures you'd have nothing in common but your appendix and he'd want to get away with that—for a consideration. I was sick as a dog and he held my hand and told me I was being very brave.
All three are my fault but they are driving you to make a fool of yourself. Nobody has tried to understand you"—which is catnip for any person of either sex, once you get them talking about themselves—"least of all your husband. You need what other women need—children, a home We can talk some more about you in the morning. In the meantime, I think I'll turn in. I'm very tired, a little tight and I've had a lousy day. You'll need your strength for the morning, if I know Virginia Rutherford. I was awakened in the morning by a hand on my shoulder.
It was Mary-Myrtle. Rutherford is downstairs and Mrs. Rutherford is talking with Mrs. Tompkins in her bedroom. She subsided on the edge of the bed and looked at me rebelliously. I won't refer to what is past, because you're old enough to know what you're doing and so am I. If you want to stay on and really help me through a hard time, I'll double your wages. If you'd rather go—and I wouldn't blame you—I'll pay you six months wages in advance and you can clear out. But I can't be worried about you and your feelings when I have a big problem to clean up here.
Will you go or stay? Tompkins," she said. Better drink it before you see the Rutherfords. Rutherford, if you'll toss me my flit-gun and, thanks! Rutherford was pacing, with surgical precision, up and down my den. He looked slightly more self-possessed than the day before and seemed to be in excellent physical condition. I guessed at the contour beneath my wadded black silk dressing gown and re-considered my original plan to throw him bodily out of the house for having come without my invitation.
Things can't go on like this. I was up all night with Virginia. You're not behaving at all well, you know, old man. None of us wish a divorce. Hang it all, Winnie, we're civilized. These things happen, you know, and we might just as well face them. We agreed that the four of us should do as we liked, and no hard feelings. Whatever you and my wife decide to do is your own affair but I'm damned if I intend to allow her to use my home as a place of assignation and I'm damned if I'll let her become the subject of gossip.
So far as Virginia is concerned, whether or not she is in love with me, I'm no longer in love with her and I'm damned if I'll play gigolo to spare the feelings of a bulging red-head who carries the torch for anything in trousers, up to and including scarecrows—myself included. It's rotten bad form and anyhow we both know that people are the way their glands make them and nothing can be done about it. I'm not quarreling with you. I'm consulting you. I don't love Virginia and I don't believe I ever did.
If you wish to wriggle out of your marriage, that's your affair. You can't sue me for alienation of affections, because all Bedford Hills is aware of Virginia's glands and because it wouldn't help your practice. For the rest, I'm willing to listen to anything as a way out of this mess. Perhaps you know the way better than I do. I'll follow your lead. I barely had time to notice that she was wearing a rather filmy night gown, when I turned to reap the whirl-wind in the form of five foot six of red-haired determination and curves.
It was just that yesterday I realized that I couldn't go through with it. I don't pretend to be moral but I won't go in for mixed-doubles at my age. It's undignified. Rutherford's mouth hung open in amazement. Whatever I have been in the past, I'm going to try to be different in the future.
I know it's hard on you but—" The red-head laughed like tumbrils rolling to the guillotine. Don't forget I have your letters. This is not one of them. Virginia, I'm not interested in buying back those letters. Save them for a rainy day. I'm going to settle with your husband. How about it, Jerry? Rutherford was going definitely Grade-B in the pinches.
He loves her and he tells me that she loves him. I've told him that they're welcome to a divorce but I won't have my house used for any hanky-panky and won't have people gossip about Germaine. They can make up their minds what they want to do about it. What's your price? They've been after me for a couple of years. Germaine yawned and the shoulder strap of her gown slipped indiscreetly.
I wouldn't miss the sight of Winnie Tompkins trying to lead a changed life for all the doctors in the Medical Corps. Rutherford in the dining-room," she added. And as she bent over the table and began to straighten out the breakfast things, the girl had the impudence to slip me a wink. Winnie's bathroom was fitted with all the gadgets, too, and there was an abundant choice of razors, from the old-fashioned straight-edge suicide's favorite to the stream-lined electric Yankee clipper.
I tried out the scales and found that my involuntary host weighed over pounds—a good deal of it around the middle. Oh, well, a few weeks of setting up exercises would take care of that. A cold shower and a brisk rub made me feel a little more presentable and I climbed shamelessly into Winnie's most manly tweeds. There was the inevitable colonial-type dining-room, with dark wainscoting below smooth oyster-white plaster, electric candle-sconces, and the necessary array of family silver on the antiqued mahogany sideboard.
The windows gave a vista of brown lawn, with the grass still blasted by winter. There was the inevitable chintzy living-room, with a permanently unemployed grand-piano, two or three safely second-rate paintings by safely first-rate defunct foreigners. There was the usual array of sofas, easy chairs, small, middle-sized and biggish tables, with lots of china ash-trays, and a sizable wood-burning fireplace.
Of course, you entered the living-room by two steps down from the front hall and there was a separate up-two-steps-entrance to my den. And sure as death and taxes, there was a veritable downstairs lavatory. I slipped on my coat and hat and stepped out through a French window which led from the living-room to the inevitable paved stone terrace. There were galvanized iron fittings for a summer awning and in the center was a cute little bronze sun-dial. This had an exclamation point and the inscription, "Over the Yard-Arm" at the place where noon should be, and a bronze cocktail glass instead of the sign for four p.
All the way around the rest of the circle was written in heavy embossed capitals, "The Hell With It! Tompkins," she called from the kitchen window, in complete repudiation of her earlier appearance as Watson, third lady's maid at Barony Castle, "the man from the kennels is here with Ponto.
Where shall I tell him to take the dog? Tompkins," he beamed the Old Retainer at me. Thought he was a sure-enough goner. Tried everything: injections, oxygen, iron lung, enema. No dice. Then yesterday afternoon he just lay down and went to sleep and I thought, 'My! Won't Mr. Tompkins feel bad! He's a mite weak, Mr. Tompkins, very weak I might say, but he'll get well quicker here than at my place and I'll pop in every other day to keep track of him. Never did see anything like the recovery that dog made in all my born days.
Now about his bowels—" I waited until he had to draw a breath and made swift to congratulate him on his professional skill. Come on, Ponto. I'll fetch you. He's pretty weak, Mr. Tompkins, but he'll get strong fast if you feed him right. Ponto did not look very weak to me, but I've always been fond of dogs and I figured that kindness to animals might count in my favor.
I jumped into the den and slammed the door, while Ponto sniffed, snapped and grumbled on the far side of my defenses. It's the one to the right at the head of the stairs. He's just excited. Shut him in and as soon as he's calmed down I'll make him comfortable. Apparently Winnie had been the kind of man whose pet dog tried to rip his throat out. That was puzzling, since from what I remembered of him at school, he had if anything been only too amiable. I waited out the vet's last-minute report and instructions, and then rang the bell for the maid.
The poor old fellow's had a rough time. Then there was a scream, the crash of breaking china and the sound of a door being slammed. I bounded up the steps to find Mary, white-faced and trembling, looking stupidly at the broken remains of a white china bowl and a sizeable puddle of water on the hardwood floor outside my bedroom. The door of my wife's room burst open and Jimmie appeared with a wild "What on earth! I gave a hollow laugh. Whenever I let him up on the furniture I always make him lie on some of my clothes.
It was just that it looked sort of queer to see his legs in the pyjama trousers. He's such a big dog. I'll go in and see that he's comfortable. Come on, Winnie! Let's take a look at him. Come on, let's see if we can't make the poor beast comfortable.
The poor beast was lying panting on my still unmade bed. The flowered Chinese silk pyjamas which I had worn at breakfast were indeed strangely twisted around its gaunt body. The coat was across the animal's shoulders and both of its hind-legs were sticking through one of the trouser-legs. Poor old fellow! Ponto gave a self-pitying whine and his tail thumped the pillow like an overseer's whip across the back of Uncle Tom.
My wife patted the animal's head and Ponto positively drooled at her. She gently disentangled him from among the pyjamas and hung them up in the closet. As she turned toward the bed, he jumped to the floor, reared up, put both paws on her shoulders and licked her face convulsively, giving little whines and shiverings.
A few minutes later, Germaine emerged looking bewildered. It's always been you he was so fond of and he barely tolerated me. Now he seems all mixed-up. After you left, he calmed right down and came back and licked my face all over again. What do you suppose is wrong with him.
Can it be fits? Dogs do get shock, you know. I remember in Psychology at Harvard they told us about a very intelligent St. Bernard dog which was shocked into complete hysteria by the supernatural. That is, they pulled a lamb chop across the floor by a thread concealed in a crack between the boards.
The dog nearly had heart failure when he saw a chop moving by itself. From what Dr. Whatsisname—" "Dalrymple. I'll sleep in the guest-room," I added swiftly, lest she leap to feminine conclusions. He seems to have quite a leech for you and we'll just leave him there to think things over by himself. I'll let him go hungry for a day or so.
So long as he has plenty of water it won't hurt him. Then when he's weak enough so as not to be dangerous I'll bring him some nice dog-biscuits and warm milk and he'll learn to love me the best way, by the alimentary canal.
Hadn't I better call the doctor? I'm out of condition, I guess, and all this dodging Great Danes is hard on the nerves. I'll go down and mix myself a brandy-and-soda. You might join me when you've moved my things upstairs. We've got to talk over a lot of things.
There could be no reasonable doubt about it—the dog knew! Ponto knew that I was an interloper, that the real Winnie Tompkins no longer existed, that a stranger was masquerading in his body and clothes. The uncanny instinct of a dog had led him to the truth when even Winnie's wife had been deceived. This was a new twist in the maze. I couldn't imagine the Master of the Rat-Race watching with scientific detachment to see whether Frank Jacklin would make it or would be disqualified in the first round.
Of one thing I was certain, unless I could establish some kind of personal understanding with Ponto, suspicion would gather around me. For the moment, Germaine did not doubt that I was her husband: my conduct had puzzled her but she had lived with Winnie so long that it was probable that she no longer specifically noticed him. Virginia Rutherford would be more dangerous—she was a woman scorned and she had been tricked out of an intrigue. She had every motive for digging out or even for inventing the truth, but I had given myself a good excuse to keep her at arm's length.
She couldn't force her way into my clubs. I would tell my office staff to keep her away from me, and she couldn't be so ill-bred as to thrust herself into my home. If I could appease Ponto and avoid Virginia, I had a fair chance of getting away with it.
Rutherford is back, sir. She wants to see you. She was wearing a long mink coat and carrying a short automatic pistol. Tell Mrs. Tompkins that I'm busy. Rutherford and I wish to have a conversation. Rutherford relaxed, laid the automatic on the sofa between us, and flung back her mink coat. She was an appetizing little number, if you like 'em red-haired, well-developed and mad through and through.
Instinctively I started to reach for the gun but was checked by her laugh. I only needed it for the maid. Tell me, Winnie, have you got her on your string, too? The maid made or undone, as they used to say. There's nothing more to be said about it. It's finished, done, kaput! All's well that ends. In spite of myself, I began pulling nervously at the lobe of my left ear, a habit of mine when confused which has always irritated my Dorothy.
Nice as you are and beautiful as you are, we're washed up. It won't work and we both know it. So why not shake hands and quit friends? It's been there since birth. You're a total stranger. He was much pleasanter as he was—a rich, friendly boob. As for you, whoever you are, I'm on to your game. You aren't Winfred Tompkins and you know it. In the first place, you call me 'Virginia' when we're alone instead of 'Bozo' as you always used to do. Winnie never did that. When he was in a spot, he always reached in his pocket and jingled his change or, as a desperate measure, twiddled his keys.
No, I don't know what your game is but I'm on to you and we're going to be real buddies from now on or—" "Or what? Now I'm willing to be broad-minded. Winnie was a louse who had it coming to him, I guess. I was playing him for a quick divorce and marriage. Three million dollars is a lot of money, even in these days, and it would have been nice to have been married to it.
But it's even nicer this way, I guess. I poured myself another drink. What's yours is mine, and we both need it. It's because now I don't have to marry you and I still have a pipe-line to the Tompkins millions. After all, I still could. But a wife can't give testimony against her husband and I think I'd rather like to be able to give testimony if needed.
Besides, a husband has too many opportunities to help the undertaker. There are accidents in bath-tubs and garages, medicines get mixed up in the bathroom cabinet and there is always the old-fashioned hatchet. No, since you've managed to get rid of the other Winnie, somehow, I think I'll keep a safe distance and my silence, as long as you make it worth my while. This would be easier than I had expected. There's the telephone. You can use it to call the Secret Service for all I care.
See what luck you have with your story, when my wife is here to testify that I'm Winnie Tompkins. Virginia Rutherford looked trapped and she instinctively pulled her mink back over her shoulders. He's been acting so strangely that he doesn't seem like himself at all. And so are you. That's what I meant by saying that you were both in it. Please go or I'll call the police.
I agreed to do so, so you can't blame her. We talked things over and decided that it's all off—a few moments of madness, but that's all, and not worth wrecking two marriages for. Isn't that so, Mrs. Jimmie, I came here with that gun. It wasn't loaded but the next time it will be. I made Myrtle or whatever her name is show me in and I told her I would shoot Winnie if she gave the alarm. Then I told him what I know about him. I told him that I wouldn't tell his secret if he paid me to keep silent.
And he told me to call the police. You've got yourself all worked up for a nervous breakdown. Of course it's Winnie. I'm married to him and I ought to know my own husband, shouldn't I? You've simply got run down and all, with rationing and war-work. Why don't you let Jerry send you for a few weeks to the Hartford Sanctuary for psychoanalysis and a good rest?
We've all been letting ourselves get over-emotional and this war is a strain on everybody. Don't worry. Jerry can fix it for you quite easily and I—we both will be glad to help pay for it, if you're worried about the money. After all," Germaine added wryly, "the whole thing is pretty much of a family affair, isn't it?
Let's keep it that way. Rutherford reached over and grabbed the gun from the sofa. Don't worry about my mind. Start thinking about the electric chair. Remember, in this state they execute women who kill their husbands. Then she turned to me with a curious expression of weariness. There's myself, of course, but wives don't count any more, do they? And there's Virginia Rutherford and Myrtle, and there was that blonde actress we met at Martha's Vineyard last summer, and is it one or two girls at the office?
Maybe you brokers have an exchange system for taking on each other's stenographers—charge it to business expenses for getting information about each other's dealings—but I know I've heard the name Briggs mentioned somehow in your connection. From now on, I'm going to be a one-woman man. Down the hatch! And now what is it you want to tell me.
But I'd better say it anyhow. I can't keep on suppressing it. Who are you? His clothes fit you but Virginia Rutherford is quite right—you aren't Winnie Tompkins. You seem to be in deep trouble of some kind. I—I'd like to help you, if I can. Don't think I'm hard on my husband. It's been years since we—oh, you know. I married him for his money and I still don't know why he married me.
Yes, I do, but I've never liked to admit it. He'd made a lot of money in the market and had built this house. He needed a wife the way he needed an automobile, a portable bar, a Capehart, a thoroughbred Great Dane and a membership in the Pond Club.
I was available, at a price, which he met—but that's all there is to our story. No, I'm not Winnie but I don't know who else I could possibly be. You see, less than twenty-four hours ago I was a lieutenant-commander on a light carrier in the North Pacific and—" Germaine slowly withdrew her hand from mine.
Poor old idiot! I'll take care of you and see that you get over this. Wait, I'll call the doctor right away. The Hartford Sanctuary's a very nice place, and I can come over every week to—" I shook my head. Besides," I added, "how do you know that I wasn't batty before and have just come to my senses.
You're sort of coming to a focus. If only—. You're so different and—strange. I know you, of course, and my name, and that this is my house and that Ponto is my dog, even though he tried to bite me. I can't recall where I work or where I bank, or who my friends are or what kind of car I drive or what I was doing before yesterday afternoon. I laughed. It was one of those dreams which seemed so real that real life seemed like a dream.
It still does a bit. That's where my alleged mind got stalled and I'm still floundering around. Help me, won't you? You have your own firm—Tompkins, Wasson and Cone—at No. It's sort of combination brokerage office and investment counsel. You once told me that your specialty was finding nice rich old ladies and helping them re-invest their unearned millions.
You bank at the National City Farmers and your car is a black '41 Packard coupe. If I go to town tomorrow, I ought to be on the look-out for them. Business isn't so good right now that I can afford to let myself be run in as an amnesiac while my partners look after the loot.
Sometimes you talk about the men you see at the Club but I've never been able to keep track of the Phils and Bills and Neds and Joes and Dicks and Harrys. You'll have to find your own way there. At the office, of course, there's Graham Wasson and Phil Cone, your partners, but you won't have much trouble once you're at your desk. Wasson is dark and plump and Cone is fair and plump and they're both about five years younger than you are.
The office will run itself and you need a rest. I don't know much about amnesia but I've always heard that rest and kind treatment—" "Uh-uh! I've always heard that the thing to do is to go back over the ground until you come to the thing that gave you the original shock and then it all comes back to you. If I stick around Bedford Hills I'll just get panicky over not being sure whether I remember things or not.
I'll go to town in the morning and see if I can't find myself. Tell me, to change the subject, you say that you remember me. Tell me what I seem like to you, now that you've changed, as you say, aside from age, sex, scars and distinguishing marks, if any, and marital status. You are apple blossoms against a Berkshire hillside. You are the smoke of fallen leaves climbing into the cool October sky. You are surf on a sandy beach, with the gulls wheeling and the white-caps racing past the lighthouse on the point.
You are bobsleds and hot coffee and dough-nuts by a roaring wood fire. And you're a lost child, with two pennies in your fist, looking in the window of a five-cent candy-shop. You've mentioned almost everything about me except the one thing I obviously am. There seemed to be nothing to do or say. Winnie's domestic life was still in too much of a snarl for me to do the obvious thing and follow Germaine upstairs, and into her bedroom, lock the door, and kiss her tear-stained face and tell her that I was sorry I had hurt her Before it would be safe to accept her gambits I must first explore my business connections.
Hadn't my wife said something about girls in the office? My first stop in the morning, after I had been careful to take a late commuting train in to the city in order to avoid business men who were sure to know and greet Winnie Tompkins, was the Pond Club. Tammy was behind the bar and as soon as I entered he turned and mixed me a powerful pick-me-up. I drained it with the usual convulsive effort and then pretended to relax. Tompkins," he remarked. You were looking a trifle seedy—if you don't mind my saying so, sir—when you were in here Monday afternoon.
Anybody in the Club? A couple of gentlemen were asking for you yesterday afternoon—that would be Tuesday. That was Commander Tolan, sir, and a friend of his, a Mr. Harcourt his name was, who hasn't been here before.
They asked me if you were at your home but I just laughed. Tompkins, I knew you didn't want to be bothered wherever you were and so I said the first thing that came to my head. Now then, I'd like you to tell me what happened here Monday afternoon. SS in the parking lot. Dad, I don't have to pee, it's number two! Dad, I'm prairie-dogging! Look dad, I'm Mrs. Dad, it's been a living hell.
Donald Sinclair[ edit ] Excuse me. Thank you all for coming. I'm Donald Sinclair, I own this hotel. We don't have much time. There's a meteor the size of North Carolina heading straight for Earth. The impact is going to kill every thing and everyone on this planet. I built a bunker in the basement to this casino strong enough to withstand the blast. There's room enough for eight people. I have chosen the seven of you, plus me. When this is over, it'll be up to us to repopulate and re-civilize the planet.
I couldn't resist! You haven't missed much, we're just cutting to the chase [Chuckles] "Cutting to the chase" [Laughs hysterically, then sees everyone else is silent] Eh, you'll all laugh later. Now, as you all know, the odds of winning the state lottery or a jackpot at one of our casinos are astronomical, I mean, millions-to-one; the average sensible person doesn't even bother. However, today you have the chance of playing a game where the odds of winning are one-in-six.
That's one throw I'm eccentric! Theoretically, you have been racing for about 40 seconds now, and so far, Mr. Schaefer is winning, because he's nearest to the door! And, they're off! Enrico Polinni[ edit ] [Entering room] Am I too late? Look I won a coin! A gold coin! Look at this room. What a beautiful room! Have you seen this room? Now I know what you are thinking, Enrico is a girl's name.
No pun intended. I am getting goose pimples. It's a race! I hope I win! Is a race! I am winning, I am winning! Hey look! A drifter! Let's kill him! Others[ edit ] Squirrel Lady: I wasn't talkin' to you, was I? Employee: Uh, those are your in-room movies. Nick Schaffer: No, I didn't watch any movies. Employee: Okay, let's see Nick Schaffer: "Afro Whores"? Employee: It says you watched it Nick Schaffer: No, I didn't watch that.
It says in the morning you watched The Grinch for ten minutes, then switched back over to "Afro Whores". Nick Schaffer: I swear I didn't watch it. I was at a bachelor party. There were 35 people there. You can ask any of them. You have to take that off my record. Hotel Clerk: It's not a record, sir. Nick Schaffer: It It's a delete. Hotel Clerk: Okay, fine. How many times did you watch it? Nick Schaffer: Uh, none! I didn't watch it! Hotel Clerk: Are you sure?
I did not watch it! Walk across the lobby, slip on the glass, let gravity do the rest. Blaine Cody: I-ight 'eak y eck! Duane Cody: It's true, you could break your neck, but it's a risk I'm willing to take.
PROFITABLE PROPERTY INVESTING TIPS
This means that there is no point in trying to work and earn more or getting an increase in salary in order to pay the mortgage and all the daily expenses. Instead, if you stray from it, you will be criticized for your choices. For Kiyosaki, this path is characterized by people who: Study a lot in school and get good MARKS; Go to college to graduate; Send resume and look for job opportunities; Get a job as an employee; Are found with more disposable income; Update their lifestyle and consume more; Finance their lifestyle with debts mortgages, credit cards, etc.
It is sad to say, but this condition is experienced by a high percentage of the world population, made up for the most part by the working class, especially by people who work for third parties. But it is also the road that most people prefer given that, staying in the comfort zone gives them a perception of safety and false happiness which makes them not aware of its consequences.
For Kiyosaki you can, and below you will find some tips that the author, in his book and in various articles of his blog Richdad , advise its public, so that you can escape from the rat race and develop your financial freedoma.
Develop a financial education: The most important difference between rich and poor is the education they receive about money and in our society there is still no subject in school on this important subject. So most people have never been taught anything about money.
For this reason, if you want to get out of the vicious circle of the rat trapped in its wheel, it is very important that you train in this area, through blogs, books, videos or any source that can provide you with knowledge. Generate extra revenue: Your income must be higher than your expenses. The bats were also updated. On May 1, K , two of the rats didn't make it and the last rat ended up third. On January 15, K , October 30, K , May 17, K , June 8, K , and October 21, K , the first two prizes were in front of Door 3 and the car was revealed afterward.
On June 3, K , the blue rat did not move at all. On November 14, K , the pink rat didn't make it and ended up fifth. The most recent win happened on October 17, K. Since September 25, K , the light blue tint was removed from the prize results screen.
On October 30, K , as part of the episode's Halloween theme, the rats were wearing Drew Carey's signature glasses. On March 19, K , during The Price is Right's "Baby Shower" episode during "Youth Week", both the Yellow and Pink rats wound up finishing too close to call that contestants Timothy and Amy McFarlane had a choice between weeks of maid service or 1 year's worth of baby food and diapers.
The latter was chosen. Trivia[] Rat Race is one of the pricing games to appear in the Season 41 logo. As in Master Key and Switcheroo , the contestant only needs to win the car not necessarily all three prizes for the game to be officially counted as won. A win of only one or two of the smaller prizes is considered a "partial win" as well as affecting perfect or winless shows; winning none of the three announced main prizes i.
And a contestant winning three rats is guaranteed to win at least one prize. This game and Master Key are very similar, as both of them involve 3 prizes one being a car , with the contestant having to figure out the price of small items in order to win chances to get the top prize. This game, like others, can be "lost" even if the contestant knows all the prices.
However, winning 3 rats guarantees, at the bare minimum, the 3rd place prize. Rat Race has never been the second pricing game in the lineup. It was played first for the first time on February 16, K, aired out of order on February Rat Race is the 2nd pricing game that has never been hosted by the former host Bob Barker. The most number of times this game was played in any season was 15 season 39 , while the least number of times this game was played in any season was 1 season
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BTC POLYCOM
Posted at 09 Mar h in Bitsa by Roberta If you are someone who, like me, has a fervent imagination and, hearing it for the first time, you imagined a mouse in sports clothes, running in the marathon of his village or you just thought about the classic mouse that runs incessantly on his wheel, well you were wrong. The Rat Race is a very interesting concept in the financial sector that has been popularized by Robert Kiyosaki, author of Rich Dad Poor Dad and today we will see what it is and how to escape from it.
Most of the time, people who live this condition ignore it or do not want to recognize it. This means that there is no point in trying to work and earn more or getting an increase in salary in order to pay the mortgage and all the daily expenses. Instead, if you stray from it, you will be criticized for your choices. For Kiyosaki, this path is characterized by people who: Study a lot in school and get good MARKS; Go to college to graduate; Send resume and look for job opportunities; Get a job as an employee; Are found with more disposable income; Update their lifestyle and consume more; Finance their lifestyle with debts mortgages, credit cards, etc.
It is sad to say, but this condition is experienced by a high percentage of the world population, made up for the most part by the working class, especially by people who work for third parties. But it is also the road that most people prefer given that, staying in the comfort zone gives them a perception of safety and false happiness which makes them not aware of its consequences.
For Kiyosaki you can, and below you will find some tips that the author, in his book and in various articles of his blog Richdad , advise its public, so that you can escape from the rat race and develop your financial freedoma. Develop a financial education: The most important difference between rich and poor is the education they receive about money and in our society there is still no subject in school on this important subject.
The most recent win happened on October 17, K. Since September 25, K , the light blue tint was removed from the prize results screen. On October 30, K , as part of the episode's Halloween theme, the rats were wearing Drew Carey's signature glasses. On March 19, K , during The Price is Right's "Baby Shower" episode during "Youth Week", both the Yellow and Pink rats wound up finishing too close to call that contestants Timothy and Amy McFarlane had a choice between weeks of maid service or 1 year's worth of baby food and diapers.
The latter was chosen. Trivia[] Rat Race is one of the pricing games to appear in the Season 41 logo. As in Master Key and Switcheroo , the contestant only needs to win the car not necessarily all three prizes for the game to be officially counted as won.
A win of only one or two of the smaller prizes is considered a "partial win" as well as affecting perfect or winless shows; winning none of the three announced main prizes i. And a contestant winning three rats is guaranteed to win at least one prize. This game and Master Key are very similar, as both of them involve 3 prizes one being a car , with the contestant having to figure out the price of small items in order to win chances to get the top prize. This game, like others, can be "lost" even if the contestant knows all the prices.
However, winning 3 rats guarantees, at the bare minimum, the 3rd place prize. Rat Race has never been the second pricing game in the lineup. It was played first for the first time on February 16, K, aired out of order on February Rat Race is the 2nd pricing game that has never been hosted by the former host Bob Barker.
The most number of times this game was played in any season was 15 season 39 , while the least number of times this game was played in any season was 1 season This pricing game was the first to premiere in the s. So far, the perfect game has been released a total of 5 times 6 times including primetime , with the most recent case being October 17, So far, there have been a total of 9 Wipeouts, the most recent being May 21, Gallery[] To view the gallery, click here.
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