The Servant Problem Read online

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  The Servant Problem

  Selling a whole town, and doing it inconspicuously, can be a little difficult ... either giving it away freely, or in a more normal sense of "selling". People don't quite believe it....

  by Robert J. Young

  Illustrated by Schoenherr

  If you have ever lived in a small town, you have seen Francis Pfleuger,and probably you have sent him after sky-hooks, left-handedmonkey-wrenches and pails of steam, and laughed uproariously behind hisback when he set forth to do your bidding. The Francis Pfleugers of theworld have inspired both fun and laughter for generations out of mind.

  The Francis Pfleuger we are concerned with here lived in a small townnamed Valleyview, and in addition to suffering the distinction of beingthe village idiot, he also suffered the distinction of being the villageinventor. These two distinctions frequently go hand in hand, and afford,in their incongruous togetherness, an even greater inspiration for funand laughter. For in this advanced age of streamlined electric canopeners and sleek pop-up toasters, who but the most naive among us canfail to be titillated by the thought of a buck-toothed, wall-eyed moronbuilding Rube Goldberg contrivances in his basement?

  The Francis Pfleuger we are concerned with did his inventing in hiskitchen rather than in his basement; nevertheless, his machines were inthe Rube Goldberg tradition. Take the one he was assembling now, forexample. It stood on the kitchen table, and its various attachmentsjutted this way and that with no apparent rhyme or reason. In its centerthere was a transparent globe that looked like an upside-down goldfishbowl, and in the center of the bowl there was an object that startlinglyresembled a goldfish, but which, of course, was nothing of the sort.Whatever it was, though, it kept growing brighter and brighter each timeFrancis added another attachment, and had already attained a degree ofincandescence so intense that he had been forced to don cobalt-bluegoggles in order to look at it. The date was the First of April,1962--April Fool's Day.

  Actually, the idea for this particular machine had not originated inFrancis' brain, nor had the parts for it originated in hiskitchen-workshop. When he had gone out to get the milk that morning hehad found a box on his doorstep, and in the box he had found thegoldfish bowl and the attachments, plus a sheet of instructionsentitled, DIRECTIONS FOR ASSEMBLING A MULTIPLE MOeBIUS-KNOT DYNAMO.Francis thought that a machine capable of tying knots would be prettykeen, and he had carried the box into the kitchen and set to workforthwith.

  He now had but one more part to go, and he proceeded to screw it intoplace. Then he stepped back to admire his handiwork. Simultaneously hishandiwork went into action. The attachments began to quiver and to emitsparks; the globe glowed, and the goldfishlike object in its centerbegan to dart this way and that as though striking at flies. A blue haloformed above the machine and began to rotate. Faster and faster itrotated, till finally its gaseous components separated and flew off in ahundred different directions. Three things happened then in swiftsuccession: Francis' back doorway took on a bluish cast, the sheet ofinstructions vanished, and the machine began to melt.

  A moment later he heard a whining sound on his back doorstep.

  Simultaneously all of the residents of Valleyview heard whining soundson _their_ back doorsteps.

  Naturally everybody went to find out about the whining.

  * * * * *

  The sign was a new one. At the most it was no more than six months old.YOU ARE ENTERING THE VILLAGE OF VALLEYVIEW, it said. PLEASE DRIVECAREFULLY--WE ARE FOND OF OUR DOGS.

  Philip Myles drove carefully. He was fond of dogs, too.

  Night had tiptoed in over the October countryside quite some time ago,but the village of Valleyview had not turned on so much as a singlestreetlight--nor, apparently, any other kind of light. All was indarkness, and not a soul was to be seen. Philip began to suspect that hehad entered a ghost town, and when his headlights darted across a darkintersection and picked up the overgrown grass and unkempt shrubbery ofthe village park, he was convinced that he had. Then he saw the girlwalking the dog.

  He kitty-cornered the intersection and pulled up alongside her. She wasa blonde, tall and chic in a gray fall suit. Her face wasattractive--beautiful even, in a cold and classic way--but she wouldnever see twenty-five again. But then, Philip would never again seethirty. When she paused, her dog paused too, although she did not haveit on a leash. It was on the small side, tawny in hue, with golden-browneyes, a slender white-tipped tail, and shaggy ears that hung down oneither side of its face in a manner reminiscent of a cocker spaniel's.It wasn't a cocker spaniel, though. The ears were much too long, for onething, and the tail was much too delicate, for another. It was abreed--or combination of breeds--that Philip had never seen before.

  He leaned across the seat and rolled down the right-hand window. "Couldyou direct me to number 23 Locust Street?" he asked. "It's the residenceof Judith Darrow, the village attorney. Maybe you know her."

  The girl gave a start. "Are _you_ the real-estate man I sent for?"

  Philip gave a start, too. Recovering himself, he said, "Then _you're_Judith Darrow. I'm ... I'm afraid I'm a little late."

  The girl's eyes flashed. The radiant backwash of the headlights revealedthem to be both green and gray. "I specified in my letter that you weresupposed to be here at nine o'clock this morning!" she said. "Maybeyou'll tell me how you're going to appraise property in the dark!"

  "I'm sorry," Philip said. "My car broke down on the way, and I had towait for it to be fixed. When I tried to call you, the operator told methat your phone had been disconnected. If you'll direct me to the hotel,I'll stay there overnight and appraise your property in the morning.There _is_ a hotel, isn't there?"

  "There is--but it's closed. Zarathustra--down!" The dog had raised up onits hind legs and placed its forepaws on the door in an unsuccessfulattempt to peer in the window. At the girl's command, it sank obedientlydown on its haunches. "Except for Zarathustra and myself," she went on,"the village is empty. Everyone else has already moved out, and we'dhave moved out, too, if I hadn't been entrusted with arranging for thesale of the business places and the houses. It makes for a ratherawkward situation."

  She had leaned forward, and the light from the dash lay palely upon herface, softening its austerity. "I don't get this at all," Philip said."From your letter I assumed you had two or three places you wanted me tosell, but not a whole town. There must have been at least a thousandpeople living here, and a thousand people just don't pack up and moveout all at once." When she volunteered no explanation, he added, "Wheredid they move to?"

  "To Pfleugersville. I know you've never heard of it, so save theobservation." Then, "Do you have any identification?" she asked.

  He gave her his driver's license, his business card and the letter shehad written him. After glancing at them, she handed them back. Sheappeared to be undecided about something. "Why don't you let me stay atthe hotel?" he suggested. "You must have the key if it's one of theplaces I'm supposed to appraise."

  She shook her head. "I have the key, but there's not a stick offurniture in the place. We had a village auction last week and got ridof everything that we didn't plan on taking with us." She sighed. "Well,there's nothing for it, I guess. The nearest motel is thirty miles away,so I'll have to put you up at my house. I have a few articles offurniture left--wedding gifts, mostly, that I was too sentimental topart with." She got into the car. "Come on, Zarathustra."

  Zarathustra clambered in, leaped across her lap and sat down betweenthem. Philip pulled away from the curb. "That's an odd name for a dog,"he said.

  "I know. I guess the reason I gave it to him is becaus
e he puts me inmind of a little old man sometimes."

  "But the original Zarathustra isn't noted for his longevity."

  "Perhaps another association was at work then. Turn right at the nextcorner."

  A lonely light burned in one of number 23 Locust Street's three frontwindows. Its source, however, was not an incandescent bulb, but themantle of a gasoline lantern. "The village power-supply was shut offyesterday," Judith Darrow explained, pumping the lantern into renewedbrightness. She glanced at him sideways. "Did you have dinner?"

  "As a matter of fact--no. But please don't--"

  "Bother? I couldn't if I wanted to. My