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Show 30 "She's the one who's over a month behind, isn't she?" "Right. It's the toilet, leaks at the base. I couldn't fix it. We'll probably have to call a real plumber." "How long has it been broken?" "A week." "Two months at one ninety is three eighty. I think we have to do something, don't you?" "She says she won't pay until it's fixed." "I wish I could say that. How can I pay for a plumber?" "She lost her job." "And I'm getting calls from three banks and my insurance people. Nobody works for himself any more. What can I do?" Jackson sniffed hard, rubbed at his nose with his finger, but did not reach for his handkerchief. "Look," he went on, "let's give her until Friday, what do you think? This, is Tuesday. It has to be in writing. Three days. State law. You have to tack it to her door." Fogarty had been nodding his head, mechanically, but now he had nothing to say. So Jackson went on. "Look," he said, "it makes me feel like a jerk too. I'm not cut out for this business. I should go back to farming. I was a pretty good farmer." Fogarty breathed in the air-conditioning which floated up out of the slot in the window. "Why'd you quit?" he asked. "Hay fever," said Jackson. "I wasn't cut out for agriculture, either. But somehow I managed to keep food on the table. She's |
