A. Fair: Spill the Jackpot

The men who had been filling the plane with gasoline and giving it a routine check-up got back out of the way. The stewardess opened the plane door, and a uniformed attendant pulled away a barrier. Bertha and I got aboard. There were already half a dozen through passengers on the plane. Bertha settled herself, heaved a deep sigh, and said, “I’m starved. Donald, run back and get me a chocolate bar.”

“No. There isn’t time.”

“Don’t be a sap. There’s two minutes yet.”

“I think your watch is slow.”

She settled back against the cushions with a sigh. The man who was seated by the window turned to give her a surreptitious glance.

“Everything all right?” I asked.

“All right, except my knees are wobbly. There isn’t any food in me. I’m a dishrag. Those doctors drained me dry.”

The man next to me held out a watch and tapped the dial. It was still three and a half minutes of time for departure. “I happen to know,” he said, “that this is right — to the second.”

Bertha twisted her neck around. I said, “Yes, I knew her watch was a little slow. You see, mine is exactly right. I set it at the airport this morning.”

I took out my watch and showed him. It was the same as his.

He started to say something, then changed his mind, and looked back out of the window.

They started the motors, and the engines clicked the props around at idling speed. A late passenger came bustling out to climb aboard the plane. He acted as though he’d made it by the skin of his eyeteeth. He settled down in a seat and waited for the plane to start. When it didn’t take right off, he seemed surprised.

Bertha Cool looked at her watch and then turned around to glare at me. Two minutes and fifteen seconds later, the plane started taxiing down the field.

After we got up off the ground, and the roar of the motors settled into a low, monotonous hum conducive to sleep, Bertha started to doze. The man who was beside me leaned across so that his lips were close to my ear and said, “You didn’t misunderstand about the time, did you?”

“No.”

He laughed. “You’ll pardon me, but I’m interested in psychology.”

“It’s an interesting subject.”

“You’ve been at the Springs Sanitarium?”

“She has.”

“I heard what she said about the doctors and the wobbly knees. Seems husky enough.”

“Yes.”

He studied me for a few seconds, then settled back, and looked out of the window. After another half hour he turned to me again. “She’s reducing?”

I shook my head.

He went back to his window for a while, and I settled down. A little later, I heard him turn and could feel that he was staring at me. I opened my eyes. He was watching me in frowning concentration. He shifted his eyes hastily.

I beckoned him to lean over and said in a low voice, “The doctor wants her to reduce. She’s had flu and pneumonia. She’s taken off about a hundred pounds. The doctor wants her to keep it off. She’s never denied herself anything. She loves to eat. Now, leave me alone and let me sleep.”

He seemed surprised at first, then he got the idea, and laughed. “You’re all right,” he said.

I dozed off for a few minutes, then woke up as we were coming in to a landing. The man next to me leaned over and tapped my knee.

The motors were throttled down now, and he lowered his voice, and asked hastily, “How long had she been so much overweight?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re going to have a hard time to keep her from putting it right back on.”

“ I’m not. It’s her funeral.”

“You’re not related?”

“No.”

He seemed disappointed for a moment, then said, “Perhaps I can help you, and at the same time try an interesting experiment in psychology. I’ll bet it’s been some time since any man has noticed her as a woman. I’ll make up to her a bit at this stop, and you watch and see what happens.”

“Don’t do it on my account.”

“I’d like to. It will be interesting.”

“Okay. It’s your party.”

The plane glided into a smooth landing, skimmed over the paved runway, past the hangars, to come to a stop in front of the big administration building and passenger depot. The stewardess said, “Ten minutes at this stop.” The motors were shut off, and most of the passengers trooped out.

“How do you feel?” I asked Bertha.

“I’m weak as a kitten.”

“You have to expect that after your illness.”

“I’m starved to death.”

“Going to get out?”

“I think I will. I want some chocolate bars.”

She got out, and walked into the depot, saw the cigar counter and newsstand, marched across, and bought herself two chocolate bars.

The man who had been seated next to me strolled over to her and said something. Bertha stared at him with those diamond-hard eyes of hers. He looked her over approvingly, started to move away, then turned back, and said something which made Bertha smile.

I bought a newspaper and read through the headlines. After a few minutes, the man who had been talking with Bertha moved over to stand at my shoulder and said in a low voice, “Want to make a bet?”

“No.”

He laughed. “It’d be a cinch. I’ll bet you anything you want she doesn’t eat that second candy bar.”

I folded the newspaper. “She paid a nickel for it, didn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“Then she’ll eat it.”

The plane dipped down over the desert, skimmed low over a dazzling white surface spotted with clumps of sage and greasewood. The shadow cast by the big ship seemed inky black as it scudded along over the ground below. Then the wheels touched the ground. The plane settled, and taxied up to where attendants were waiting.

“This is it,” I said to Bertha.

The man who was seated next to me said, with some surprise, “Are you getting off here?”

“Yes.”

“So am I.”

Bertha smiled at him. “That’s nice. Perhaps we’ll be seeing you.”

“Staying long?” the man asked me as we settled ourselves in the automobile which would take us to town. “I don’t know.”

“Business?”

“Yes.”

Bertha Cool was up in the front seat beside the driver. The man leaned over so his lips were close to my ear.

“I take it then you aren’t acquainted here in Las Vegas?”

“No.”

We rode on for a while, then he said, “The Sal Sagev Hotel is a nice place to stay. Name’s hard to remember until you realize that it’s just Las Vegas spelled backwards. This certainly is a great town. Reno gets the advertising, but Las Vegas has just as much color as Reno. Sometimes I think more. It’s more distinctive, more individual.”

“I’ve been to both places.”

“Well, you know what it’s like then. I get a kick out of it.”

Bertha Cool turned in the seat. “This desert air certainly makes you feel good.”

The man next to me said with a little bow, “It certainly makes you look good. You’re the picture of health.”

“My war paint,” Bertha said.

“That sparkle in your eyes didn’t come from a drugstore, and if you have any make-up on, it’s simply gilding the lily. Persons who have your smooth, fine skin texture don’t need make-up.”

It had been a long time since Bertha had heard anything like that. I looked for her to tell him off. Instead she tried a smile. It melted into a simper as she turned around to face the windshield.

At the Sal Sagev Hotel, Bertha Cool inscribed her scrawl on the register. The man said, “That’s interesting. I’m to meet the representative of a man by the name of Cool.”

Bertha looked at him. “You’re Whitewater?” she asked suddenly.