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"We'll live," she answered him. "I got a job today barmaid, on your beat, where being your wife helps." He could think of nothing to say to it; but after supper, he went to Izzy's room to arrange for a raid on Municipal territory. Such small raids were nominally on the excuse of extending the boundaries, but actually they were out-and-out looting.
I ask you, is it any reason him and his papa got scenes together until for the neighbors I'm ashamed, and for papa's heart so afraid? That a fine boy like our Izzy should run so wild!" Tears lay close to the surface of her voice, and she created a sudden flurry of dust, sweeping with short, swift strokes. "Izzy's not so worse! Give me a boy like Izzy any time, to a mollycoddle.
He'd tried to help the suckers in his column, and here he was. And Gordon had been proud to serve under Murdoch. "Come on, Izzy," he said. "Let's vote!" Izzy shook his head. "It ain't right, gov'nor." "Let him do what he damn pleases," Gordon told him. Izzy's small face puckered up in lines of worry. "No, I don't mean him. I mean this business of using ammonia.
Now another group came onto the scene, and the Planters' men began getting out rapidly. Some of the citizens looked up and yelled, but it was too late. From the approaching cars, pipes projected forward. Streams of liquid jetted out, and their agonized cries followed. Even where he stood, Gordon could smell the fumes of ammonia. Izzy's face tensed, and he swore. "Inside the dome!
You gotta." "All right," Gordon admitted. He was suddenly in no mood to quibble with Izzy's personal code. "So you paid it. Now show me where I signed any agreement saying I'd pay you back!" For a second, Izzy's face went blank; then he chuckled. "Jet me! You're right, gov'nor. I sure asked for that one. Okay; I'm bloody well suckered, so forget it." Gordon shrugged and gave up.
It makes her sore to watch him sittin' around like tonight and conductin' the orchestra. She says it ain't because he's daffy, but on account of his bein' stuck up." The woman with the green hat had left her table. Izzy's shrewd eyes picked her out again this time standing against a far wall talking to the professor, and the professor was rubbing his forehead and saying "No, no," with his hands.
When a man makes hisself by hard work he 'ain't got time to keep young, with silk socks and creased pants, and hair-tonic what smells up my house a hour after Izzy's been gone. It ain't the color of a man's vest, Renie it's the color of his heart, underneath it. When papa was a young man, do you think, if I had looked at the cigar ashes on his vest instead of at what was underneath, that I "
Then he stopped, staring at the piece of imitation leather and paper that wouldn't bend. His fingers were still stiff as he began tearing off the thin covering with his knife; the paper backing peeled away easily. Under it lay a thin metal plate that glowed faintly even in the dim light of Izzy's room! Gordon nearly dropped it. He'd seen such an identification plate once before.
At the door to the hall, he hesitated, staring at Sheila's room. Wife or prisoner? He turned it over in his mind, knowing that her words couldn't change the facts. But in the end, he dropped the key and half his money beside her door, along with a spare knife and one of his guns. He went by Izzy's room without stopping; technically, the boy was an enemy to all Municipals.
Kantor broke into an actual tarantella of rage, his hands palms up and dancing. "'What did papa do? she asks. She's got easy asking. 'What did papa do? The whole shop, I tell you. A sheep with a baa inside when you squeeze on him games a horn so he can holler my head off such a knife like Izzy's with a scissors in it!
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