Abnormal Occurrences Read Free

tracing with a forefinger. Eventually he lowered the file, turned it to face Phipps, and pushed it across the desk.
    Phipps put on his half-glasses and began quickly to examine the papers. Until this moment he had assumed that he retained the power to understand written language. But apparently such was not the case: he could not make out more than a word here and there, a “so” or an “as” or “than,” but suspected some of what he thought to be vaguely familiar were perhaps only cases of coincidental resemblance: e.g., “beyondings,” “distribukor,” and “cripple flypass.”
    He could only too easily have surrendered to panic at this point, but by now was something of a veteran at gibberish, having survived the earlier experiences. So he nodded, stared sternly at his employer, and plunged in.
    “What we have here is a bold and inventive plan that if instituted is guaranteed to smoke our competition in the Southwest, and not only that. As you have better reason than most to know, in recent years we have more or less slunk out of New England with our tail between our legs. I frankly believe this state of affairs could be altered to our advantage as soon as the first quarter of next year. But don’t take my word for it. Look at the graphs!” He turned the file toward Nebling and pushed it back.
    Even had his speech been comprehensible—which it had certainly not been to his own ear—the content of it was spur-of-the-moment invention. The company was already in the process of closing the Northeastern division: no “new plan,” even if potentially wonder-working, could possibly be put into effect quickly enough to change that situation. Not to mention that if there was such a plan, he knew nothing about it. He had no idea of what was really in these papers.
    But Nebling received the bogus information soberly. He studied the first few pages in the sheaf, nodding deliberately and then picked up the pace with his sharp chin. Finally he shut the folder, raised it, and having walked around the desk, presented it to Phipps with a crisp and positive gesture, like a drill sergeant returning a rifle to a recruit after finding it suitably clean. He clapped Phipps on the shoulder cap and uttered what, by its tone, could only be an affirmative sentiment.
    Folder under his arm, Phipps left. He now felt so confident that he was able to pass Barbara with a smile and a wink. As to Fallon, however, he could not be so easygoing. Now was the time if there ever was one when, backed up by his new support from Nebling, he could try to even the score with his immediate superior. He continued on past his own cubicle to Fallon’s office.
    Fallon was on the telephone when he entered, but soon hung up and, babbling amiably, indicated that Phipps should take one of the chairs that faced him.
    Phipps however thrust the folder across the desk. “You fool,” he tried to say. “John Nebling and I agree that this plan of yours is disastrous. John was so furious about it that he even began to consider whether you might be an agent provocateur planted on us by one of our competitors. But I saved your job. I assured him you were too dumb to play such a role!” With a cruel grin he dropped the folder on the royal-blue blotter in its rosewood frame.
    All of what Phipps had wanted to say came out in the now usual nonsense sounds, and he could not imagine what interpretation Fallon could possibly make of it, but the man was smiling as he opened the folder and began to examine its contents.
    After a moment Phipps sat down. He experienced some failure of nerve. It was all very well to pretend to be having fun, making the best of a bad job, but if looked at clearly his predicament was disastrous. Thus far today he had proved absolutely incapable of communicating with his fellow human beings. How could any good come of that?
    Fallon looked up from the papers, smiling more broadly than ever, tapped them with his forefinger, and said something