| The hand of Providence, right here, holding out a brochure. Around three AM that morning Joe got up to close the door on the room he thought of as the nursery – the wind had come up and whistled through the newspaper stuffing in the sill. I gotta insulate this place, he thought. And he’d thought about it no more until the door rang and the salesman stuck out a paw. “How’s this work?” Joe asked. “You just go up in the attic and put the stuff down?” “Yes sir,” the salesman said. “Takes an afternoon, no more. We have men who can be in and out before you know it, and then you just sit back and wait for the lower heating bills.” “Can I go out now and then, or do I have to sit back and wait? I got things to do.” “Ha hah! Of course, no, the bills won’t come until fall, but when you hear that heater turn on you’ll remember you’re protected with Gamble’s Homeguard. Would you like me to take a look upstairs now and give you an estimate?” “Sure?” “Well, dandy.” Joe smiled. The kid was okay. This wasn’t his first job selling stuff, obviously; he had patter and presence and a nice dry handshake, the sort of things you get after you’ve been cold-calling for a while and gotten used to doors closed in your face. He’d started his salescall by holding up the matchbook, turning it in his palm to do the one-handed lighting trick. Are you burning up your paycheck with high fuel bills? I can help. That got him in the door, and his style earned him a look upstairs. Joe was in a charitable mood. He’d gone to the bar last night as usual. He had sodas and sketched the regulars. First he did Stan, who was always sitting at the end of the bar smoking cigarettes and lining up dead matches in rows; Stan consented, but he was an agreeable drunk. the other regulars were irritated by his choice of beverage; nothing annoys drinkers more than a drinker who isn’t, or doesn’t, or won’t. He let them buy him drinks, and he sipped a beer, but didn’t finish it. Ulcer’s giving me hell, he said, and they relaxed a little. But they wouldn’t buy it forever. No matter. He wasn’t going back anyway. “This how I get up?” said the salesman. Keith, he’d said. “Yeah. Pull the rope, the stairs should come down. It’s probably pretty dusty. I don’t get up there very often to clean.” “I’m used to it.” He pulled the rope and the stairs unfolded from the hallway ceiling. Keith clicked on a flashlight and headed up. Joe noted that his shoes were shiny; either this was his first call of the day – or, more likely, he polished off the attic dust before he went to the next house. Keith played the light around the attic. “Looks pretty good,” he said. “Any dressmaker’s dummies?” “What?” “In the movies there’s always a dressmaker’s dummy in the attic. And a birdcage and maybe part of a bed. I don’t know why.” “Nothing but newspapers. Someone used papers for insulation.” “Really. Can you bring those down before you put in the stuff?” “It’s part of our satisfaction guarantee.” Keith climbed back down the stairs. “Simple job,” he said. “I can bring this in for the minimum price. And with our new Save-Later plan we don’t bill you until a month after the heating season starts. If your bill isn’t cut by at least ten percent we’ll pay half the difference.” “What if I become a fresh-air fiend and open all my windows in October?” “The offer stands.” “Write me a number.” Keith nodded, took out a pad embossed with the GAMBLE logo, produced a thick pencil and made some notes. He tapped the page and wrote a number. He showed it to Joe. “That’s including the five-year guarantee. Which doesn’t include damage from vermin, misuse, or Acts of God.” “Uh huh.” Not a bad price. “Why aren’t vermin included in Acts of God? He made mice, if you believe Genesis.” Keith’s eyes brightened. “I do.” He smiled. "Do you now." “You could say everything’s an Act of God, if He has foreknowledge –" Keith smiled, shrugged, and tapped his notebook. "Go on." "Well, it's just - we talked about this in study group the other day? He knows what’s going to happen, I mean, God, and lets it happen, so you could say that everything is an expression of His will. Or at least has His stamp of approval. If you want to, uh, use those terms.” |
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