lped
Adam shove a chair to the table. The woman and Villa were singing
"Quiereme Mucho" in Spanish, their voices a trifle hoarse by now.

"You will like hell. It'd take me ten minutes to teach you how to work
the transmitter. Think we have ten minutes?"

The giant was standing still, weaving, pawing the air. It would not give
in to its pain and dizziness. If it fell now it might hit them. It was
that close.

"You've _got_ to show me. I have a bad heart. I'm due to die in a month
or two," said Summersby urgently.

Watkins stared at him. "Do you think you went through the past hours
with a rotten ticker? Don't make me laugh."

"It's true. I'm just waiting to die. You're no more than thirty-eight or
forty, and you've got twenty-two thousand dollars there," he said,
gesturing at the briefcase. "I don't give a damn about the morals of the
case. You're a decent fellow and you ought to have this break."

Watkins snarled, as he gave the valiantly singing Mrs. Full a hand up to
the chair seat, "You think I have a martyr complex? You think I _want_
to stay here? I'm elected, that's all! It's me stays or it's everybody!
I haven't the time to teach you to work it!" He hit Summersby a hard
blow on the chest. "Your heart's fixed up the same as Adam's eyes and
Cal's sinus. These gentry could turn your lungs upside down without
opening you up, they're that good. Go back to your woods. You're okay."

"No," said Summersby with stubborn rage. "I'm sick of waiting to die.
That's why I took the coaster ride in the first place. That's why I
wanted--"

"You're nuts. You have a heart to match your frame, Highpockets, if
you'd admit it. Hand up old Cal."

The monster took two wobbling steps toward them. They were all on the
chair, then clambering onto the table. Watkins swung open the door of
the brown box. "Fast," he said urgently, "fast!"

Adam had Cal by the armpits; he lugged him into the dark interior. Villa
jumped in, Mrs. Full following. Summersby confronted the safe-cracker.

"Show me how to work the machine. I don't believe they could mend a bad
heart."

Watkins handed him the briefcase with so unexpected a motion that
Summersby took it automatically. "Send it to Roscoe & Bates, if I don't
turn up. I guess I can't use it here." He put a hand under his coat. "Go
on, Highpockets."

"No!"

Watkins drew a gun, a small steel-blue thing that looked as wicked as a
rattler. Summersby had had no idea that he was carrying it. "