down at
the piano。
Back to the shelves。 This time he couldn't find what he wanted； a small
battery。 A three… or four…cell。 There were socket wrenches； a case filled with
drills and drillbits； bags of lawn fertilizer and Vigoro for the flower beds；
but no snowmobile battery。 It didn't bother him in the slightest。 In fact； it
made him feel glad。 He was relieved。 I did my best； Captain； but I could not get
through。 That's fine； son。 I'm going to put you in for the Silver Star and the
Purple Snowmobile。 You're a credit to your regiment。 Thank you； sir。 I did try。
He began to whistle 〃Red River Valley〃 uptempo as he poked along the last two
or three feet of shelf。 The notes came out in little puffs of white smoke。 He
had made a plete circuit of the shed and the thing wasn't there。 Maybe
somebody had lifted it。 Maybe Watson had。 He laughed aloud。 The old office
bootleg trick。 A few paperclips； a couple of reams of paper； nobody will miss
this tablecloth or this Golden Regal place setting 。。。 and what about this
fine snowmobile battery？ Yes； that might e in handy。 Toss it in the sack。
White…collar crime； Baby。 Everybody has sticky fingers。 Under…the…jacket
discount； we used to call it when we were kids。
He walked back to the snowmobile and gave the side of it a good healthy kick
as he went by。 Well； that was the end of it。 He would just have to tell Wendy
sorry； baby； but —
There was a box sitting in the corner by the door。 The stool bad been right
over it。 Written on the top； in pencil； was the abbreviation Skid。
He looked at it； the smile drying up on his lips。 Look； sir； it's the cavalry。
Looks like your smok