"I think we're agreed," the third man said, "that it is not prudent to represent this item in its present form."
All three nodded toward Elmo.
"Work on the taste," Ernie suggested.
"And the color," the second man said.
"Mauve," said the third man. "Work on mauve. A hot color this year."
"That's it?" Elmo finally sputtered. "You talk
men. The third man agreed but suggested it might sell best in mauve.
A back scratcher.
Elmo Wimpler packed up his curtain, his invisible black vase, and his spray can and left, shaking his head. On the way out, he didn't even notice the receptionist's forty-inch chest. She was busy talking to a man who was offering to demonstrate how useful his back scratcher would be for front scratching too.
By the time he got home, Elmo had decided to finance himself in marketing his invisible spray paint. Thank God he had money—a little money—
about cars, you talk about mauve, you give me two \ still left in stocks and savings. He called the banker
minutes, and you say good-bye?"
"That's it," the team leader said. "It's impractical in its present form, Mr. Wimple."
"Wimpler."
"Yes, Mister Wimper. I'm afraid it's impractical. Now, if you had something to do with a barbecue, maybe. People are into barbecues again with infla-
.. T, .. . - • -vi u -u« your holdings and made some investments."
tion running rampant. But not an invisible barbe- J6
cue. There's no market for that."
"Try mauve," another man suggested.
"I paid you five hundred dollars," Wimpler shouted.
"Nonrefundable," Ernie snapped. "You understood that when you came in. Nonrefundable. Now, we have other people to see, Mister Simple, so if you're finished? ... We have a man to see about a back scratcher that's supposed to revolutionize the art of scratching your back."
"That sounds interesting," said one of the other
10
who was the trustee for his parents' estate and asked him how much money was left.
"Nothing," the man answered.
"Nothing?" Elmo said. "How can that be? There's a mistake." Please lei there be a mistake, he thought.
"I'm sorry, Elmo, but I saw a chance to increase
"I didn't authorize any investments," Wimpler snapped.
"I know," said the banker, sounding huffy over the phone. "But I knew you wouldn't mind. So I put your money in gold."
"And gold dropped from eight hundred to six hundred an ounce. I should have something left."
"No," the banker explained patiently. "I bought on margin. The two-hundred-dollar drop wiped you out. Sorry about that."
"My house," said Wimpler. "I can mortgage it. What can I get?"
11
"Too late. You really should have called me last week. I mortgaged your house."
"Damn," snarled Wimpler.
"Well, if you let me know once in a while what's on your mind . . ." the banker said. "I can't read minds, you know. Anyway, if I can be of any more . . ."
Wimpler hung up.
He was broke.
Ruined.
And hungry.
But there was no food in the house. Nothing but dry cereal and powdered milk, and he gagged just thinking about it.
He fell into a chair, holding his head between his hands. What could he do now? He had no family, no friends to turn to for help. He could starve to death and no one would know. Here he had this great invention worth millions. Imagine all the things that could be made invisible. Tanks. Airplanes. An army. Policemen. Burglars.
Wait a minute.
He sat straight up in the chair and reran everything that had just gone through his head until he found the one he wanted.
Burglars.
Could he do it? Did he have the nerve?
Was anything worse than starving to death?
He began to walk to his bedroom, slowly at first, then with more determination. He tripped over his cat. The cat spat. Elmo Wimpler apologized.
From his closet he took an old shirt and slacks and his only other pair of shoes.