Part 4 (1/2)

Rosie's parents would have been pleased at how completely proper their behavior was, while they took the three bank robbers into town and turned them over to the sheriff.

That night, Rosie sat out on the porch with Sam and they discussed the particular event of the day in some detail. But Rosie was still concerned about the other Sam. So Sam decided to a.s.sert himself.

About half-past nine, he said firmly, ”Well, Rosie, I guess I'd better be getting along home. I've got to try one more time to call myself up on the telephone and tell me to mind my own business.”

”Says who?” demanded Rosie. ”You're staying locked up right here tonight and I'm riding with you tomorrow. If I kept you honest this far, I can keep it up till sundown tomorrow! Then maybe it'll stick!”

Sam protested, but Rosie was adamant--not only about keeping him from being a crook, but from having any fun to justify his virtue.

She shooed him into her brother's room and her father locked him in. And Sam did not sleep very well, because it looked as though virtue wasn't even its own reward.

He sat up, brooding. It must have been close to dawn when the obvious. .h.i.t him. Then he gazed blankly at the wall and said, ”Migawd! O'course!”

He grinned, all by himself, practically from head to foot. And at breakfast, he hummed contentedly as he stuffed himself with pancakes and syrup, and Rosie's depressed expression changed to a baffled alarm.

He smiled tenderly upon her when she came doggedly out to the truck, wearing her blue jeans and with the monkey wrench in her pocket. They started off the same as any other day and he told her amiably, ”Rosie, the sheriff says we get five thousand dollars reward from the bankers'

a.s.sociation, and there's more from the insurance company, and there's odd bits of change offered for those fellas for past performances. We're going to be right well off.”

Rosie looked at him gloomily. There was still the matter of the other Sam in the middle of the week after next. And just then, Sam, who had been watching the telephone lines beside the road as he drove, pulled off the road and put on his climbing irons.

”What's this?” asked Rosie frightenedly. ”You know--”

”You listen,” said Sam, completely serene.

He climbed zestfully to the top of the pole. He hooked in the little gadget that didn't make private conversations possible on a party line, but did make it possible for a man to talk to himself ten days in the future.

Or the past.

”h.e.l.lo!” said Sam, up at the top of the telephone pole. ”Sam, this is you.”