”No,” he found himself saying. “I appreciate the offer, really; but not just now”
Mr. Fisk’s face fell-ludicrously. “I really wish you would reconsider, Mr. Carson.”
Kit shrugged. “Ask me again in a week or so. We time scouts are a changeable lot.”
Fisk tightened his lips imperceptibly. “Yes, so I’ve discovered. Well, you have my card, but my employers are most anxious to press ahead with this project and there are other retired time scouts on my list.”
Kit nodded. “I expect there are. And I’m sure most of them need the job more than I do.” He held out his hand. Fisk shook it, betraying grudging respect in his eyes.
”If you reconsider your position in the next two days, please let me know.”
He had until Primary cycled to change his mind.
Kit didn’t foresee that happening.
Mr. Fisk left him with his cold eggs.
”Huh. It was probably a scam, anyway,” Kit muttered. “Too good to be true equals dubious in my book. Besides, who wants to live in the Bermuda Triangle?” He could do that by Jumping down La-La Land’s unstable gate. He shove Fisk’s business card into his pocket and tackled his cold breakfast, telling himself his decision had nothing to do with keeping track of that stupid little imp, Margo.
Sure it doesn’t, Kit. And toadie frogs got wings.
He muttered into his scraggly mustache and finished his morning paper, determined not to think about Margo or her suicide mission. Why was it, Kit mourned silently, that all the real trouble in his life inevitably came skipping in on the coattails of some irresistibly pretty girl?