country rock assaying only enough silver per ton to go broke on, plus a trace of
platinum and a whiff of gold.
The clients attempting to mine gold were even worse. There is something about gold
that has an effect on human judgement similar to that of heroin or cocaine.
But there were also a few rational investors – gamblers, but gambling the odds
correctly. Offered a chance to reduce upfront expenses in exchange for points, they
often took that option… and the claims selected by these more level-headed people
were more likely to merit a go-ahead from Brian.
Even these worthwhile mining claims usually lost money in the long run, through
failure of their owners/operators to shut down soon enough when the operations
stopped paying their costs. (Brian did not lose when that happened; he simply
stopped making money from his percentage of the net.) But some of them made money
and some of them made lots of money and some of them were still making money
regularly forty years later. Brian’s willingness to postpone his return other than a
modest fee put our children into the best schools and Brian’s quondam secretary,
Mama Maureen, into big, fat emeralds. (I don’t like diamonds. Too cold.)
Page 87
Heinlein, Robert A – To Sail Beyond the Sunset.txt
I see that I’ve missed telling about Nelson and Betty Lou and Random Numbers and Mr
Renwick. That’s what comes of being a Time Corps operative; all times look alike to
you, and temporal sequence becomes unimportant. All right, let’s fill in.
Random Numbers may have been the silliest cat I’ve ever lived with – although all
cats are sui generis, and Pixel has his supporters for the title of funniest cat,
unlimited, all times, all universes. But I’m sure Betty Lou would vote for Random
Numbers. Theoretically title to Random lay in Brian, since the cat was his bride’s
wedding present to him, somewhat delayed. But it is silly to talk of title to a cat,
and Randie felt that Betty Lou was his personal slave, available at all hours to
scratch his skull, cuddle him, and open doors for him, a conviction she supported by
her slavish obedience to his tiniest whim.
Betty Lou was Brian’s favourite sweetheart for, oh, pretty steadily for three years,
then as circumstances brought them together for years and years. Betty Lou was
Nelson’s wife, Nelson being my cousin who played fast and loose with a lemon
meringue pie. My past had come back to haunt me.
Nelson showed up in December of 1906, shortly after Brian had decided to strike out
on his own. Brian had met Nelson once, at our wedding, and neither of us had seen
him since that day.
He had been fifteen then, no taller than I; now he was a tall, handsome young man of
twenty-three, who had earned a master’s degree in agronomy at Kansas State
University, Manhattan… and was as charming as ever, or more so. I felt that old
tingle deep inside me and those cold lightnings at the base of my spine. I said to
myself, Maureen, as a dog returneth to its vomit, you are in trouble. The only thing
protecting you is that you are seven months gone, big as a house, and as seductive
as a Poland China sow. Tell Briney in bed tonight and get him to keep a close eye on
you.
Big help! Nelson showed up in the afternoon. Brian invited him to stay for dinner.
When he learned that Nelson had not checked into a hotel, he invited Nelson to stay
overnight. That was to be expected; at that year and in that part of the country,
people never stayed in hotels when homes of kinfolk were at hand. We had had
overnighters several times even in our first crackerbox; if you didn’t have a spare
bed, you made up a pallet on the floor.
I didn’t say anything to Brian that night. While I was sure that I had told Briney
the lemon-pie story, I wasn’t sure that I had mentioned Nelson by name. If I had
not-or if Brian had not made the connection – then let sleeping dogs bury their own