RATTLE OK
By HARRY WARNER, JR.
Illustrated by FINLAY
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Science Fiction December 1956.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
What better way to use a time machine than
to handle department store complaints? But
pleasing a customer should have its limits!
The Christmas party at the Boston branch of Hartshorne-Logan wasthreatening to become more legendary than usual this Christmas.
The farm machinery manager had already collapsed. When he slid underthe table containing the drinks, Miss Pringle, who sold millinery, hadscreamed: "He'll drown!"
One out of every three dirty stories started by party attendees hadremained unfinished, because each had reminded someone else of anotherstory.
The recently developed liquors which affected the bloodstream threetimes faster had driven away twinges of conscience about untrimmedtrees and midnight church services.
The star salesman for mankies and the gentleman who was in charge ofthe janitors were putting on a display of Burmese foot-wrestling inone corner of the general office. The janitor foreman weighed fiftypounds less than the Burma gentleman, who was the salesman's customaryopponent. So the climax of one tactic did not simply overturn theforeman. He glided through the air, crashing with a very loud thumpagainst the wall.
He wasn't hurt. But the impact knocked the hallowed portrait of H. H.Hartshorne, co-founder, from its nail. It tinkled imposingly as itsglass splintered against the floor.
The noise caused a temporary lull in the gaiety. Several employes evenfelt a passing suspicion that things might be getting out of hand.
"It's all in the spirit of good, clean fun!" cried Mr. Hawkins, theassistant general manager. Since he was the highest executive present,worries vanished. Everyone felt fine. There was a scurry to shove thebroken glass out of sight and to turn more attention to another type ofglasses.
Mr. Hawkins himself, acting by reflex, attempted to return the portraitto its place until new glass could be obtained. But the fall had sprungthe frame at one corner and it wouldn't hang straight.
"We'd better put old H. H. away for safekeeping until after theholiday," he told a small, blonde salesclerk who was beneath hisattention on any working day.
With the proper mixture of respect and bonhommie, he lifted the heavypicture out of its frame. A yellowed envelope slipped to the floor asthe picture came free. Hawkins rolled the picture like a scroll and putit into a desk drawer, for later attention. Then he looked around for adrink that would make him feel even better.
A sorting clerk in the mail order department wasn't used to liquor. Shepicked up the envelope and looked around vaguely for the mail-openingmachine.
"Hell, Milly, you aren't working!" someone shouted at her. "Haveanother!"
Milly snapped out of it. She giggled, suppressed a ladylike belch andreturned to reality. Looking at the envelope, she said: "Oh, I see.They must have stuck it in to tighten the frame. Gee, it's old."
Mr. Hawkins had refreshed himself. He decided that he liked Milly'svoice. To hear more of it, he said to her: "I'll bet that's been inthere ever since the picture was framed. There's a company legend thatthat picture was put up the day this branch opened, eighty years ago."
"I didn't know the company ever used b