“Where are you going when the old man dies?” Bixby asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“When the old man dies, you’ll be out of a job, won’t you?”
“Yes, I suppose I will.”
“So where are you going?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t actually given it that much thought.”
“How would you like to come work for me?”
“You are offering me a job?”
“Yes.”
“I’m surprised.”
“Why are you surprised?”
“Because, to tell you the truth, Mr. Bixby, I’ve always had the belief that you didn’t particularly like me.”
“I don’t like you,” Bixby said. “You are just too damn meek for my tastes. I like a man who has a little gumption.”
“And yet, you offer me a job.”
Bixby laughed. “What does one have to do with the other?” he asked. “I’m wanting to hire you, not socialize with you. Besides, a little obsequiousness is not a bad thing for an employee. I don’t want to be challenged.”
“I see.”
“And let’s face it, I’ll be taking over the old man’s business,” Bixby said. “Who knows his business better than you? I think it’s a very good situation for both of us.”
“What does Mrs. Bixby think?”
“It doesn’t matter what she thinks. I’m the one hiring you, not her,” Bixby replied. “But as a matter of fact, hiring you was her idea. Normally, I wouldn’t listen to any suggestion she had to make, but in this case, I think it was a good one. So, what do you say, Hendel? Do you want to come to work for me?”
“Mr. Hendel! Mr. Hendel!” Cynthia called from the bedroom. “Please, come quickly! Papa is calling for you!”
Hendel hurried into the room and saw Montgomery sitting up in his bed. He was gasping for breath.
“Mr. Montgomery, you should lie back down, sir!” Hendel said, concerned over the old man’s condition.
“The papers,” Montgomery gasped. “The papers you want signed, give them to me now quickly.”
“But they aren’t made out yet,” Hendel said.
Montgomery shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’ll sign at the bottom, you can fill them out later. Quickly, man.”
“Yes, sir,” Hendel said. Hurrying over to the old man’s desk, Hendel rifled through it until he found three blank sheets of paper. He brought the papers and a fountain pen to Montgomery. Montgomery signed all three of them, then handed them to his daughter.
“Witness that you saw me sign these,” he said.
“What are they, Papa?”
“Do you trust Mr. Hendel?”
“Yes, implicitly,” Cynthia answered.
“Then sign them.” Montgomery lay back on his pillow, as if exhausted.
Cynthia signed all three blank sheets of paper, then returned the pages to Hendel.
“I signed them, Papa, though I don’t know what—
Montgomery was lying back on his pillow—his eyes open but already clouding over with the opaqueness of death.
“Papa!” she screamed again.
Hendel hurried over to the desk and picked up the telephone. “Number 271, please,” he said. He looked over at the bed and saw that Cynthia was bent over at her waist, with her head on her father’s chest. “Dr. Petrie,” Hendel said when the doctor answered his telephone. “You had better return to the Montgomery home. I believe he has died.”
Hanging up the phone, Hendel walked back into the parlor. Bixby was still there, but now he was reading the newspaper.
“Mrs. Bixby needs you, sir,” he said.
“What for?”
“I’m afraid Mr. Montgomery has just died.”
“So? What does she need me for? If the old man is dead, there is nothing I can do about it.”
Bixby went back to reading the newspaper. “Says here there is a beef shortage,” he said. “The price of cattle is going to go sky high.”
