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"No," said Croy regretfully, "Portland, Oregon. After my parents passed away, I attended
several schools, graduating from the University of California."
"Oh, we know lots of people there!" exclaimed Edkin. "Our cousins on my mother's side have
some friends who teach at Berkeley. Perhaps you know them-Harold Sizeland and-"
"Sorry," Croy apologized. "I was at the Los Angeles campus. But let's not talk about me,
Mr. Edkin. Mary Lynne tells me you're in credit maintenance."
"That's right." Actually he was a loan collector; it was close enough.
Croy leaned confidentially closer. "You can help me, Mr. Edkin. I'm planning a sort of
surprise for Mary Lynne."
"Surprise?"
"Here," said Croy, reaching into his pocket. Hs pulled out several sheets of legal cap,
stapled into a blue folder. "Since you're in the financial line," he said, "you'll know if this is
all right. What it is, it's a kind of trust agreement for Mary Lynne."
Edkin scowled. "You're taking a lot for granted, Croy. I haven't agreed to anything."
"Of course not. But won't you look this over for me? You see, it puts all the royalties
from my firing chamber in her name. Irrevocably. So that if anything happened to me, or there was,
well, anything serious-" he didn't say the word "divorce," but he shrugged it-"she'Il be well
provided for. I'd appreciate your opinion of the contract."
Edkin glanced at the papers suspiciously.
He was ready to stand up and order from the house this brash young giant who interrupted
his trivision programs and proposed to carry off his sister. But something hit him in the eye. And
what that something happened to be was a neatly typed line specifying Mary Lynne's guaranteed
minimum annual income from the trust agreement.
Thirty-five thousand dollars a year.
Edkin swallowed.
Attached to the certificate of agreement was a notarized copy of the Amalgamated Luna
royalty contract. Unless it was a fake, the thirty-five-thousand-dollar figure was exactly right.
Mary Lynne came back into the room, and nearly dropped the coffee tray.
"Hi there, Mary Lynne!" greeted her brother, looking up from where he was patting Croy on
the shoulder. "Coffee, eh? Good!"
She stared at him unbelievingly. He bobbed his head, winked conspiratorially at Croy,
jammed the papers in his pocket and stood up.
"Coffee, eh?" he repeated, carrying chairs toward the table. "Your young man won't drink
it, Mary Lynne. But surely he'll have some cake, eh? Or a drink? Some tea? Perhaps a glass of
chocolate milk- Mary Lynne will be glad to warm it. No?"
He shrugged and sat down, smiling. "No matter," he observed.
"Now tell me. When would you two lovebirds like the happy event to take place?"
Three days later, the marriage was performed. It was the minimum legal waiting period.
Alden Edkin, as it happened, was a bachelor who believed that every man who glanced at his
sister was a prospective rapist-and that those who proposed marriage were after her money besides.
Still, he was not an idiot.
He had taken certain precautions.
First, he took a copy of the trust agreement to Mr. Senutovitch in his company's legal
department. Mr. Senutovitch read the papers over with real enjoyment.
"Ah, bully stuff, Edkin," he said sentimentally. He leaned back and gazed at the ceiling
while the arms of his reclining chair sighed faintly and adjusted to his position. "It's a
pleasure to read the work of a master."
"You think it's all legal, Mr. Senutovitch?"
"Legal?" Mr. Senutovitch coughed gently. "Did you notice the classic language of the
operative clause? That's Paragraph Three:
'Does hereby devise, grant, give, bestow and convey, without let or distraint, absolutely.' Oh,
it's a grand piece of work."
"And irrevocable?"
Mr. Senutovitch smiled. "Quite irrevocable."
"You're sure, Mr. Senutovitch?"
The lawyer said mildly, "Edkin, I wrote this company's Chattel Lien Form. I'm sure."
The other precaution Edkin took was to drop into his company's Credit Reference Library
and put through the name of Croy, James T., for a report.
It would take a few days for the credit report to come through, and meanwhile the ceremony
would be performed and the couple off on their honeymoon. But at least, Edkin consoled himself,
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when it did come through, it would be a comprehensive document. The company took an expansive view
of what a credit report should cover.
The company, moreover, was not to be deceived by any such paltry devices as a change of
name-or, for that matter, of fingerprints, retinal patterns or blood type. If a man could change
his basic genetic construction, he might fool the company, but not with anything less; the Credit
Reference Library was hooked in by direct wire with the F.B.I. office in Washington-for the
convenience of the
F.B.I., not of the company. There would be no secrets left to Mr. Croy. And therefore no secret
worries for Alden Edkin.
And then Edkin stood by, fighting a manly urge to weep, as his sweet young sister gave
herself in wedlock to this ~white-haired giant with the deep, penetrating eyes. The ceremony was
performed before Father Hanover at Trinity Episcopal Church. There were few witnesses, though Mr.
Senutovitch showed up, wrung the bridegroom's hand warmly and left without a word.
In the empty house, Alden Edkin took a deep breath, let it out, and put through a phone
call to their only surviving relative. It was the least he could do.
A plump face over the fur collar of a lounging robe peered out of the phone's screen at
him.
"Aunt Nora?" said Edkin tentatively. "My, you're looking well."
"You lie," she said shrilly. "I look old. What do you want? If it's money, I won't give
you a-"
"No, nothing like that, Aunt Nora."
"Then what? You sorry you threw me out of the house twenty years ago? Is that what you
called up to say?"
"Aunt Nora," said Edkin boldly, "I say let bygones be bygones. I called you up to tell you
the news about Mary Lynne-my sister- your niece."
"Well? Well? What about her?"
"She just got married, Aunt Nora," said Edkin, beaming.
"What about it? People do, you know. There's nothing strange."
Edkin was shocked. Such a lack of family feeling! And from her who should feel herself
lucky beyond imagining that anyone in the family called her up at all. He was angry enough to say
what he had vowed he would never refer to.
"At least," he said icily, "she got married."
Pause.
Thinly: "What do you mean by that?"
"You know perfectly well, Aunt Nora."
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