Year of the Jackpot 18

"You can't afford me. Meadeseriously, baby, what
happened?"
"I was ready to leave the dump anyway. For the last six
weeks the popcorn machine has been carrying the place.
Today I sat through I Was A Teen-Age Beatnik twice. Noth-
ing to do."
"I'll be along."
"Eleven minutes?"
"It's raining. Twentywith luck."
It was more nearly sixty. Santa Monica Boulevard was a
navigable stream; Sunset Boulevard was a subway jam.
When he tried to ford the streams leading to Mrs. Megeath's
house, he found that changing tires with the wheel wedged
against a storm drain presented problems.
"Potty! You look like a drowned rat."
"I'll live," But presently he found himself wrapped in a
blanket robe belonging to the late Mr. Megeath and sipping
hot cocoa while Mrs. Megeath dried his clothing in the
kitchen.
"Meade . . . I'm 'at liberty,' too."
"Hub? You quit your job?"
"Not exactly. Old Man Wiley and I have been having
differences of opinion about my answers for monthstoo
much 'Jackpot factor' in the figures I give him to turn over
to clients. Not that I call it that, but he has felt that I was
unduly pessimistic."
"But you were right!"
"Since when has being right endeared a man to his boss?
But that wasn't why he fired me; that was just the excuse.
He wants a man willing to back up the Know-Nothing pro-
gram with scientific double-talk. And I wouldn't join." He
went to the window. "It's raining harder."
"But they haven't got any program."
"I know that."
"Potty, you should have joined. It doesn't mean any-
thing1 joined three months ago."
"The hell you did!"
She shrugged. "You pay your dollar and you turn up for
two meetings and they leave you alone. It kept my job for
another three months. What of it?"
"Uh, wellI'm sorry you did it; that's all. Forget it.
Meade, the water is over the curbs out there."
"You had better stay here overnight."
"Mmm . . . I don't like to leave 'Entropy' parked out in
this stuff all night. Meade?"
"Yes, Potty?"