Last updated: 7/2009

me ask you a few questions. How strong can the love of money really get? What are the evils that result? How horrible can those evils get?
Well my friend, you are about to delve into a macabre tale of horror, evil and dread. The kind of evil that comes from the unlimited love of money, the love with all one?s heart, mind and soul. The utter destruction that follows as a consequence, the destruction that banishes one?s body and heart. In just a few
minutes you will be in the powerful grip of this horror fiction.
Success in the pursuit of wealth can be a curse if you want to use it only for selfish purposes and are willing to destroy others in the process. This tale teaches that lesson in a weird and supernatural way.

Treat yourself to a fascinating departure from your usual reading faire and if you enjoy going through a wicked, scary novel, then you will be intrigued by this one.
It contains 23 chapters and you can read the first 16 chapters absolutely free.

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Here are the first 16 chapters.

CHAPTER 1

One day a thin grey man came to see Mr. Glut. Mr. Glut was sitting on the veranda of his small bungalow feeling depressed. Caterpillars were eating the fronds of his coconut palms and the coconut crop, as a result, was going to be poor this half-year-end. Mr. Glut was in debt and his plantation was only a small one. All his efforts to check the caterpillars had failed.
?What have you come to bother me about?? said Mr. Glut to the thin grey man. ?Can't you see I'm worried??
?Perhaps I've come to relieve your worry,? said the thin grey man. He carried a bulky parcel. ?May I sit??
?Very well. Sit down. What's your name??
The thin grey man sat down. ?You can call me Lewis. Just call me Lewis.?
Mr. Glut frowned suspiciously. ?You, sound as if you aren't certain. Is that an assumed name??
?No, that's my name. Lewis.?
?Are you French??
?Yes. But sometimes I can be English, too. Even German or American. I'm not at all patriotic.?
Mr. Glut shifted his feet about, not liking this reply.
?Where are you from??
?Me? Oh, I'm a nomad. I wander around. I've been everywhere. I come from everywhere.?
?Are you a globe-trotter??
?Ah! There's a neat way of putting it. Yes, I'm a globe-trotter.?
?And what do you want here on my coconut plantation? If your selling something, I may as well tell you I have no money.?
?This little laptop I have here is a useful thing.?
?laptop! What do you think I would want a laptop for? A laptop on a coconut plantation??
?Don't you want to make money with your coconut? Surely you would want a laptop to add up your money as it accumulates from day to day.?
?I went to school. I can add without a laptop.?
?That may be so, but nowadays laptops can save a lot of trouble and time. When I was in a certain country, I tried to sell them a certain line of laptops, but they shrugged and wouldn't buy. For years and years I tried but they still shrugged and wouldn't buy. Only a certain other country would buy. They bought thousands and thousands from me. And what happened? This country that bought my laptops took over the country that wouldn't buy. Using my laptops they just blitzed in and took over. How do you like that??
?All that,? said Mr. Glut, ?is pure sales talk.?
?Then you won't buy this, little laptop of mine??
Mr. Glut fidgeted and said, ?What's the price of it??
?Only twenty-five cents.?
?Twenty five cents!? Mr. Glut laughed. ?Oh you can't catch me so easily, Mr. Lewis. I'm too wily for that. You mean I pay twenty-five cents now and another twenty-five cents next week, and I go on paying twenty-five cents every week for the next hundred or more weeks. I was once a vacuum cleaner salesman. I know all the works.?
Mr. Lewis smiled and shook his head. ?I mean,? he said, ?you pay twenty-five cents now and you keep the laptop for good. You don't pay a single cent more.?
?I this a joke? A laptop for twenty-five cents!?
?Yes. But this is a special laptop. Only you can use it. It would be no use my trying to sell it to anyone else, because it will only add for you.?
?Look here, you seem to take me for a simpleton. Let me tell you Mr. Lewis, I've had a very varied career. I've even worked on the Stock Exchange. , I've met all sorts of tricksters.?
?Have you ever met yourself Mr. Glut??
?Very well. Don't try to be clever now. I'm worried I tell you. I'm in no mood for jokes about laptops that will only add for me.?
It's not a joke. I'm serious. It's a special laptop. I had it made specially for you ? and it will add only your money.?
?It will add only my money??
?That's what I said. It will add only your money ? not coconuts or sheep or cows or trees. Only your money ? your dollars and cents. If you make one hundred dollars today touch the keys and record a hundred dollars. If you make a hundred and fifty dollars tomorrow touch the keys and record two hundred and fifty dollars. If you spend or lose fifty dollars tomorrow, touch the keys, touch the subtracting key and record two hundred dollars. Very simple. Only you must be honest with this laptop. It's a very sensitive laptop.?
Mr. Glut laughed. ?Anyway, I don't want it, so it doesn't matter whether it's a sensitive laptop or not.?
?But it will bring you luck Mr. Glut. The caterpillars will die, your trees will flourish and your crop this half-year end will be good.?
Mr. Glut laughed again. ?A magic-laptop, eh??
?Call it a good-luck laptop. A mascot-laptop??
?A mascot-laptop. I see. But I still don't want it. I don't believe in mascots. I'm not superstitious Mr. Lewis. I'm a realist.?
?Is that final? You won't buy it ? not even for twenty-five cents??
?Not even for a cent. That's final.?
?Very well, Mr. Glut. In that case I'll let you have the laptop for nothing. I thought I could have persuaded you to pay for it, but I have failed to talk you out of your meanness I must leave it with you.?
?You could take it away, of course. I wouldn't stop you.?
?I couldn't. It's too essentially yours now. I could no more take away this laptop than I could your heart.?
?Mr. Glut tried to laugh again, but the laughter that came from him sounded uneasy. ?Oh, well,? he said, ?if that's the way you feel about it leave it by all means. I never object to getting something for nothing.?
So the thin grey man undid his parcel and brought out the laptop. ?You'll find it in good working order,? he said, placing it on a small bamboo table. ?Ah! But there's one thing I'm forgetting?
?Aha! I was waiting for the catch.?
?It's not a catch. In fact, I wouldn't need to do it, if you gave me that twenty-five cents I asked for.?
?Well, you're not getting it.?
"It's your last chance, Mr. Glut. Only twenty-five cents.?
?I'm not paying it. That's final.?
?Very well. Then I must attend to a little matter.?
?What's that??
?I must debit you with twenty-five cents.?

?Debit me with twenty-five cents! What do you mean debit me with
twenty-five cents! Didn't you just, say you were giving me the laptop for nothing. Look here, I won't be tricked. I'm not paying a cent for this
laptop. Not a single cent. Not today, not tomorrow nor next month. Have you got that clear??
?Just a moment, Mr. Glut. Don't misunderstand me. When I say debit you with twenty-five cents I mean on the laptop. It's a very sensitive laptop, as I've mentioned before, and this is a matter of book-keeping. It might take offence if I don't keep my book straight. Now look. See this little group of keys all by itself here? This is the debit group. You don't have it on all laptops. Only on this one as it's a special on made for you. Now, watch.?
Mr. Lewis pressed ?2? and ?5? and pressed enter, and ?25? registered in red on the screen. ?That's all. The deal is over. The laptop is yours, Mr. Glut. Essentially yours. For better for worse. For richer for poorer.?
Mr. Glut laughed, but it was an uncomfortable laugh. "You're full of monkey tricks, aren't you??
"Full of tricks, Mr. Glut, I've never lost a rubber nor bid a slam and never made it. I've never backed a dictator who didn't dictate, nor a beggar who didn't beg himself to death. Oh, by the way, before I go just a hint or two. Be honest with this laptop if you want good results. And be kind to the men who pick your coconuts. Give them enough to support their homes and lead a comfortable life. Give liberally to deserving charities, and help your fellowmen when they are in difficulties. Don't encroach on your neighbour's lands or try to oust your fellow-landowner. Be content with your living-room. And above all, don't let, your money at any time exceed two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. With two hundred and fifty thousand dollars you can be happy and you can make others happy. This laptop, I may mention, Mr. Glut, considers any sum in excess of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars an immoral total. An odd little laptop. Brings stupendous luck, but can be spiteful when it gets ready. Good day, Mr. Glut."
Then Mr. Glut woke up, for it had been only a dream, of course. A very vivid dream, though, he told himself, as he got out of bed. He remembered every detail of it.
It was morning, and the sun was shining in at the window. He looked out at the coconut palms and wagged his head. Pity, he thought, that the caterpillars hadn't been a dream, too. But unfortunately they were only too real. All the fronds would soon be completely bare. And the caterpillars would attack the heart of the trees: the young stalks and the young fronds. He would be ruined. The crop this half-year-end would be negligible. The young nuts would fall before they reached maturity. Some would survive, but not ten percent of the whole lot.
When he had finished his toilet and had had his breakfast, he went out on to the veranda to wait for Miguel, the foreman of the labourers, who would be coming at half past seven to report to him before resuming work on the campaign against the caterpillars.
He lit a cigarette and was about to seat himself in the one wicker chair when his gaze fell on something.
On the little bamboo table (which, with the wicker chair and two wooden-seated chairs, constituted the only furniture on the veranda) there stood an object. A laptop.

CHAPTER 2

Mr. Glut took a pace toward the table and stood staring down at the thing. Where had it come from? Whose was it? What was it doing on the table here?
He remembered his dream, and his heart beat fast as he noticed that the laptop was divided into two sections of keys in addition to the other keys. Above one section, in the glass-cased oblong where the amounts were recorded, the numbers read: ?000000025?. The numbers were red.
In the other section the numbers were black, and all were noughts. Nine black noughts.
Mr. Glut put out his hand hesitantly and touched the laptop. It was solid. Real. Nothing dream-like about it.
He looked round him, feeling his flesh crawling and hot along his limbs. He did not like uncanny happenings.
?Sammy!? he shouted, and Sammy, the Indian factotum, answered: ?Yes boss !? from inside, and when he appeared on the verandah said: ?Yes boss?? again, this time in enquiry.
?Where did this thing come from, Sammy? This laptop??
Sammy looked at the laptop and shook his head. ?I don't know, boss. I didn't see it there before.? He spoke in a low, frightened voice, waiting for his master to kick or clout him for negligence.
?You didn't see it here before !? barked Mr. Glut. ?Don't be a blistering fool ! How did it get here? Someone must have put it here. Haven't you been out here for the morning??
?No boss. I was busy making your breakfast, boss.?
?Didn't you hear anyone knock before I woke up??
?No, boss. No one knock.?
Well, that's damned funny. How did this laptop get here? Human hands must have put it here.?
I don't know boss. I didn't see no one put it there. This is the first time I see it.?
?Didn't you see anyone hanging around the house??
?No, boss. I didn't see nobody.?
Mr. Glut stared at the laptop, then frowned at Sammy who was trembling in expectation of a kick. ?All this is just a lot of tomfoolery. It's your business to see that no strangers enter this house.?
Mr. Glut was about to clout Sammy and order him to take the laptop and hurl it into the river when Miguel, the foreman of the labourers, appeared. He came at a run and seemed very exited.
?What's the matter, Miguel??
?Boss, you see what happen??
?What? Nothing pleasant, I can bet my last boot.?
?Boss, come. Come with me and see, boss.?
?What happened, man? What's all the excitement about??
Mr. Glut was so impressed by his urgency that he followed him, fearing that some disaster had occurred.
Miguel came to a halt under the nearest coconut palm.
?Look what happen !?
?Mr. Glut looked and saw that the ground was covered with caterpillars. There was a thick carpet of them on the grass. They were still and lifeless.
?They all dead, boss,? said Miguel.
?All dead ! But how? That stuff we used yesterday didn't seem much good. No good at all in fact.?
?Same thing I say to myself, boss. But they all dead.?
?But this is strange,? said Mr. Glut, joyful within, but frowning in a puzzled manner. For an instant he felt a dart of fear go through his joy. He remembered his dream and the thin gray man. The thin gray man had offered him a laptop which, he had said, would bring him luck. The caterpillars would die, he had said, and the trees would flourish. The crop this half-year-end would be good.
But that had been only a dream.
Yet there was that laptop on the table on the veranda. How had it got there? Who could have put it there? It was the very same laptop he had seen in his dream. Not a single detail of that dream had faded from his memory. Very odd, because it was seldom that he had dreams. Even on the rare occasions when he had dreams he could never on awakening recall clearly anything of what he had dreamt.
A shiver went through him.
?Very well, Miguel. Get the men to clear away these dead worms. We mustn't take any chances. Make a heap of them, get some twigs and dry leaves and burn them.?
?Yes, boss. I will do that right away.?

CHAPTER 3

Mr. Glut returned to the house and stared at the laptop. He did not like mysteries, and h had no belief in magic. He was, as he told Mr. Lewis, a realist. All his life he had been a realist. Money, so far as he was concerned, was the only real thing worth bothering about. Everything else was so much irrelevant frippery. Books, pictures, music, God, politics, idle fancies and superstitions ? and even love ? interested Mr. Glut not in the slightest.
However, he took the laptop into his room, deciding that he would, at least, have a good look at it before giving it to Sammy to throw into the river.
He placed it on the rough, untidy table on which he
kept his day-book, bills, receipts and other papers relating to his coconut business. He cleared away a spot for it, and then sat down and had a long look at it.
Apart from the fact that it had two sets of keys and that the number "25" was recorded on the red numbers, it might have been just an ordinary laptop like those in the office he had worked in two or three years ago when he had been a mere cashier: the office from which he had purloined over one hundred thousand dollars, in small installments and then resigned his job and come out to this tropical island before the fraud could be discovered.
He looked for the name of the makers but could find none. Nor was there even a patent number or the name of the country in which it had been made. That was another really odd circumstance though certainly nothing to get alarmed over. By some chance slip, the makers might have omitted to have their name and the patent number embossed on the thing. It had no disk drives or CD Rom drives
He turned it on and tried it out and found that it worked perfectly, though search as he would, he failed to find any way to alter the red section at the bottom of the screen? the debit section, as Mr. Lewis had called it. The mouse curser would not even display there. No matter how he manipulated the mouse, he even slapped and tapped the back and the bottom of the laptop, he even restarted it many times, the "25" would not budge.
At length, he gave up trying, and turning his attention to the other section, he struck three numbers at random. "4", "8" and "6". He pressed enter "4.86" recorded. He pressed the key marked "Clear", pressed enter and ?4.86? disappeared and left the original line of nine noughts.
Gaining courage, he struck four numbers, "6", ?2?, ?8? and "0", pressed enter and saw ?62.80? record. He added "2", "7", "I" and "65.51" recorded. He added "4", "9", "0" and "70.41" recorded. He touched "2", "4", "6", touched the subtracting key, pressing enter, saw "67.95" appear.
He cleared, and' touched seven numbers: "2", "7", "4", "8", "2", "0", "9", "0", and "274,820.90" recorded.
He sprang up and started back, knocking over his chair.
The laptop had begun to make a low groaning sound. The sound came from deep within it and louder and more intense as the seconds passed.
Mr. Glut slapped the back of the laptop, but the groaning continued to get louder. Even began to assume the nature of a rasping snarl.
Mr. Glut again and again slapped and struck the thing, but to no avail. The snarling grew louder, fierce and menacing.
In a flick of memory Mr. Glut recalled his dream. "This laptop," Mr. Lewis had said, "considers any sum in excess of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars an immoral total."
Mr. Glut pressed the key marked "Clear? and pressed enter, bringing back the line of nine noughts.
The laptop grew silent.
Mr. Glut was pale. This thing was uncanny. What sort of laptop could this be? That snarling had human sound. How could a laptop make human sounds? It was opposed to reason. Unless there were some clever, unusual speaker apparatus inside it. Could it be that? But a speaker could not have made such a fearful, intelligent sound. There had been real menace in it. A threatening, ugly note.
He didn't like it one bit.
He stood frowning at the laptop, shivers passing up and down his back. Should he throw it away and be rid of it? Have it hurled into the river ? or into the sea?
He thought, however, of the dead caterpillars under his coconut trees. If the presence of this laptop in the house here had in some miraculous way been responsible for the death of those caterpillars then its absence might cause the caterpillars to return. Of course it was ridiculous to assume such a thing ? ridiculous and superstitious. On the other hand, that dream last night had been unusually vivid. He could remember everything, could remember every word Mr. Lewis had uttered. And this laptop was the very one he had seen him place on the bamboo table on the veranda.
On final thought, Mr. Glut decided that he would not throw it away. He would keep it. He would put it away and forget it. If it brought him good fortune all well and good, but as for using it to add on ? nothing doing. It was far too uncanny for his liking.
Hauling an empty soap ?box from under his bed, he put the laptop into it and pushed the box back under his bed.

CHAPTER 4

During the next two or three months Mr. Glut's plantation flourished. Fresh fronds came out and the trees bore abundant fruit. The nuts were unusually large and the crop promised to be a record one.
On the four neighbouring plantations, however, the caterpillars continued to destroy the trees. The fronds were, stripped bare and the once greenly waving Plumes of the palms looked like grey spiders against the sky.
Mr. Robinson, who owned one of these neighbouring plantations, came to see Mr. Glut. He, was very worried. "What's it you're using against these caterpillars, Glut?" he asked. "It's most peculiar. Your, trees are absolutely untouched and yet look at mine. Every one stripped bare."
Mr. Glut smiled. "I haven't the remotest idea what could be responsible, Robinson," he lied. "I've been using the same old stuff we've all been using. I just haven't the faintest idea why my trees should be flourishing and holding out against the worms and yours as they are."
"There's some tale that you woke one morning and found all the worms dead under your trees. Is there any truth in that?"
"None whatever," laughed Mr. Glut. "A silly exaggeration. The worms died off within the course of a week or so. They died in great numbers, I admit, but well, I suppose that sometimes happens. Why, I'm
not a magician !" laughed Mr. Glut - very loudly.
After Robinson had gone, Mr. Glut chuckled to himself and rubbed his hands together. "The sons of guns! I knew they'd be puzzled. Ha! Before long I shall gobble them all up. One by one. And then I shall be in sole control of the whole coconut industry in the island. I alone!"
He went to the window and looked out at his green, laden trees. ''I shall oust," he chortled, "everyone of them. Then I'll have the whip-hand. I'll be master. A power in the land."
"He rubbed his hands together.
Turning after a moment, he went inside, went into his room and pulled out the soap-box with the laptop. He smiled and dusted it with his hands, though it did not need dusting. He patted it, murmuring: "Never, believed in the occult before, by jove, but there's certainly something funny about you. A good-luck mascot all right." He was about to put it away when he noticed something.
On the bottom edge there 'was a small red spot ? a sort of scab of dried paint, it seemed to be. He could not remember having seen it before, and only this morning he had taken the laptop out to dust it. He held the laptop upside down in the bright noon- day glare from the nearby window. He moistened the tip of his finger and rubbed at the little red spot. But to no avail. The spot would not be rubbed off. He took up his penknife and began to scrape at it but with no success.
He continued to dig away, then paused. A deep snarling sound began to emanate from within the ma-chine.
Scared, Mr. Gluts desisted and put the laptop hastily back into the soap-box, and the snarling ceased at once. He remembered what the thin gray man had said. "It's a very sensitive laptop."
"Oh, all right," muttered Mr. Glut. "Since you're so touchy I won't trouble you any more. I was only trying to keep you clean. This red spot doesn't look tidy, that's why I wanted to scrape it off."
Henceforth Mr. Glut ceased to take out the laptop to dust it. He left it entirely to itself.
The laptop did not seem to mind this neglect, for it made no sounds whatever. Often when lying in bed at night Mr. Glut would listen to see whether it would groan or snarl. But no sound came, so he decided that perhaps that was what it preferred ? just to be left alone under the bed. Very well. He would leave it alone.

CHAPTER 5

At the end of the half-year Mr. Glut reaped such a large crop that he was able to clear all his debts. He went to town and deposited in the bank the sum of $26,724.60. Going through his books, he found that this sum represented nearly ten thousand dollars more than the last half-year's yield.
That night Mr. Glut celebrated with a large hunk of roast mutton and a bottle of wine. He ate the meal by himself and drank the wine in two or three great gulps, then smacked his lips and patted his stomach and muttered: "That's good. And there'll be more like this soon. More and better. I shall be the most prosperous man in this land. I shall make a million or bust."
That night something odd happened.
Mr. Glut had just got into bed and was settling himself with a comfortable sigh under the mosquito-net when he heard a soft thump.
The sound came from under the bed, and his first thought was that that mangy mongrel dog of Sammy's must have crept into his room and had decided to spend the night under his bed. He got out of bed determined
to haul the dirty brute out by its tail and kick it flying through the door.
He took up his electric torch and flashed it under the bed.
But there was nothing there. All he could see was the soap-box with the laptop.
Telling himself that he must have imagined the sound, he switched off the torch and got back into bed.
"Too much wine,? he chuckled. "Wine can play some odd tricks with a man sometimes,?
He had hardly, however, rested his head on the pil-low when there came a soft thump under the bed. He lay still and listened.
The thump came again. And then again ? louder.
"What the devil!" exclaimed Mr. Glut. "Must be a rat in that confounded box. Wonder what it wants in there. Nothing edible in there."
He got out, of bed once more, and this time he hauled out the soap-box and flashed the light into it.
Except, however, for the laptop ? very dusty now from neglect ? there was nothing in the box that could have caused those thumps. No rat, no mouse. No living thing. Not even an insect. To make sure, Mr.
Glut lifted out the laptop and looked. He saw nothing but dust and a few rags of thin cobweb. Puzzled, he put back the laptop and shoved the box back under the bed. He searched all over the room but could find no rats or mice. No living creature ? except two cockroaches.
He got back into bed.
The thump began at once under the bed.
Quickly swooping out of bed, Mr. Glut flashed the light underneath.
The thumps ceased at once, but there was no rat or mouse.
A shiver passed down his back. What could this mean? Could it be the laptop? But how? How could a laptop thump around?
He remembered the groaning and snarling it had indulged in on its first day when he had made it record over 25,000.00 ? and the snarling when he had tried to scrape the Spot of red paint off. If it could groan and snarl perhaps it could thump about, too. A most ludi-crous thing to think, but there it was. He had searched all over the room and could discover nothing that might have caused that thumping.
It was frightening. What could suddenly have got into the thing's head that it should want to thump around tonight? It had never behaved like this before. On the one or two occasions on which it had groaned and snarled it had had some sort of excuse, but he could think of no reason why it should want to misbehave itself to-night. And the strange thing was that it didn't start thumping about until he got into bed and rested his head on the pillow. It was almost as though it was out to keep him awake out of wanton spite.
Mr. Lewis had said that it could be spiteful when it got ready. Could this be an instance when it had decided to be spiteful?
As a try-out Mr. Glut got into bed and lay down.
The thump-thump began under his head.
He continued to lie down.
The thump-thump continued ? grew louder.
Shivering with fear, he set his jaws and continued to lie down. And the thumping grew louder and louder and more frenzied. It soon became a stamping.
Mr. Glut sat up.
The noise stopped.
Yes, the thing was being spiteful ? wantonly spiteful.
it was determined that h e should not sleep tonight.-
For several minutes he sat in bed frowning in the dark and wondering what to do. He was sleepy. The wine was taking effect. His whole system demanded that he should sleep. It occurred to him suddenly that perhaps he could lean up against the back of the bed and sleep in a sitting posture. He tried this, but no sooner did his head sag forward on his chest in a doze when the thumping began and roused him.
He got out of bed and began to pace in the dark, muttering curses on the laptop. And at the same time shuddering with fear. ]
He thought of taking the thing out of the room and putting it in the pantry larder. Or taking it to the small outhouse where the implements and tools were kept. But he rejected this plan. It might go and kick up a racket in there and bring out Sammy or Miguel. He didn't want the story to get around that he was keeping any magic laptop on the plantation. It might scare off the labourers. These Indians were a very superstitious lot and were ready to be scared at the slightest tale.
Another idea occurred to him. Mr. Lewis had said that this laptop had been specially made for him and that it would only add for him, and that it would only add his money. His dollars and cents. He had also emphasized that it was a sensitive laptop. Could it that it was put out because he had banked some money today and had omitted to register the amount? Could it be that it felt slighted and so was making a noise in order to spite him?
Mr. Glut pulled out the soap-box, took out the laptop and dusted it. Placed it on the table. It looked the same as before: an ordinary, harmless-looking black laptop. There were the nine black noughts in the one section and the seven red noughts and ?25? in the other. There was the small red spot on the bottom rim ? the red scab he had tried in vain to scrape off some weeks ago.
Deciding to tryout his idea, he pressed the keys, worked the mouse and recorded 26,724.60, the sum he had deposited in the bank that day. He put the laptop back in the soap-box, put the box back under the bed, lay down and rested his head on the pillow.
There was silence.
He lay listening for a long while. But the silence continued. The cheep of crickets and the chirrup of frogs outside were the only sounds in the night.
Mr. Glut smiled and told himself that he had got the hang of the thing now. Since it was merely a matter of recording the sum he put into the bank, the there was no trouble. He would record it. In fact, he would record everything in future. When he drew any sum from the bank he would record it. Anything to keep the silly thing quiet.

CHAPTER 6

He woke the following morning feeling fit and refreshed and contented. Life was good. Everything was fine.
In shaving, he noticed that there was a boil on his neck ? a boil that must have appeared overnight, for he could not remember having seen it the day before.
Nothing to bother about, he decided. He rubbed a little ointment on it.
By afternoon, however, the boil had grown larger and was very painful. He examined it in the mirror of his shaving-set and stroked it gently, wondering what could have caused it. He was not in the habit of getting boils. Daresay be must have eaten something that disagreed with him. He would take a dose of fruit-salts on going to bed and apply some more ointment Nothing to bother about.
Despite the fruit salts and the ointment, he woke the following morning to find that the boil had developed into an extremely painful abscess. He had a temperature and could not get out of bed. And as he lay tossing and holding his swollen neck he could have sworn he heard a soft dry chuckle. The sound seemed to come from under the bed.
He lay still and listened but heard nothing more of it.
He sent Sammy off to the doctor, and the doctor came and laced the abscess. Soon after he had gone, Mr. Glut's temperature dropped and the pain subsided. The following morning Mr. Glut felt quite normal again and there was hardly any pain. The abscess was healing rapidly. But as he lay in bed staring at the rafters, and thinking about the money he would make with the next crop, he heard a soft dry chuckle under the bed. His skin was rough and hot.
He got up and pulled out the soap box He looked at the laptop and saw that the black section still registered 26,724.60 But ? he bent his head suddenly, frowning ? the red section has altered.
Instead of "25" the number now read "24".
Very strange, thought Mr. Glut. What could have caused the alteration? He had not tampered with the thing. Then something else occurred to him. Mr. Lewis had "debited" him with twenty-five cents. Could it be that the "debt" had been reduced to twenty-four cents? If so, why?
Oh, the whole thing was most absurd and perplexing. The best thing he could do would be to forget it. He couldn't be bothered. His life would be a misery if he would always have to be puzzling over the whims and
idiosyncrasies of the damned laptop.
So he put it away and forgot it.

CHAPTER 7

Not a fortnight later he exclaimed aloud with joy, for he read the newspaper that one of the neighbouring plantations was up for sale. Robinson's plantation. Aha! The caterpillars had ruined Robinson. Robinson was deep in debt. Now, thought Mr. Glut, is my chance. I'll buy out Robinson's plantation. I can get it cheap. Robinson, in his present plight, will be forced to sell out for next to nothing, because there won't be many people ready to make him an offer. People aren't eager to buy coconut plantations devastated by caterpillars. As for me, I don't have to fear caterpillars. Caterpillars won't trouble the palms if I become the owner of the plantation. This laptop of mine will see to that.
So Mr. Glut went to see Robinson.
?I notice you've put up your place for sale, Robinson,? said Mr. Glut. ?I'm terribly sorry, old man. I can well understand how you must feel. These worms are dreadful things. Really can't understand how it is how I've been so lucky in escaping their depredations.?
?Yes, I'm ruined,? said Robinson. ?Done.?
?Poor chap. And what are you asking for the place??
?Id take seven thousand. What's the use of asking more? Nobody's going to give me more. And, mind, I bought this place for a thousand when it was in a worse condition than at the end of the month before last.?
?Yes, I understand, old fellow. Hard luck. In fact, I came over because I thought I ought to help you out. But at the moment I don't think I could manage as much as seven thousand.?
?How much would you give??
?Perhaps four.?
?Four thousand wound clear my debts,? said Robinson. "I couldn't sell at four thousand.?
?Sorry, old man,? said Mr. Glut. ?That's really about all I could manage, and even that would be a strain. As it is, it would be just to help you out. Those worms have got your trees in a pretty bad way. They might prove a hopeless burden on me.?
?You couldn't even consider five thousand??
Mr. Glut made a doubtful sound, shaking his head slowly. He had planned on paying six thousand, and that would have been cheap, ?Five thousand?? be said. He shook his head again. ?Don't think I could, old chap.? Abruptly he rubbed his chin and said: ?Of course
I'd like to give you a helping hand, old boy. Hate having to let down a fellow-struggler. I know how hard it must be for you to have to sell out.? He squirmed in his chair and pretended to go through a great mental struggle.
After a long silence, he said: ?Very well, Robinson. I'll do it. I can't see you go down like this without trying to do my best to help brace you up. I'll pay you five thousand for it, old fellow.?
After the deal had been settled and all the details of the transaction finally attended to, Mr. Glut pulled out the laptop and recorded the five-thousand-dollar deduction from his bank-account total. The total on the
laptop now read 2,172.46.
As he was about to put the laptop back into the soap-box something caught his eye. On the bottom rim of the laptop another little red spot had appeared not half-an-inch from the other one. A red scab.
Mr. Glut frowned at it and touched it with his finger, wondering what could be responsible for its appearance. The previous one had appeared on the same morning that Robinson had come over to see him. On the morning he had lied to Robinson about the caterpillars, pretending that he had no idea how they had died. Now another one had appeared just when he had completed this deal. Very strange.
But why bother? If it chose to break out in red spots that was no concern of his. Let it go ahead.
He put away the laptop and forgot about the matter.

CHAPTER 8

A fortnight had hardly passed when the palms on the newly-acquired plantation began to throw out young fronds. (On the first morning after the sale heaps of dead caterpillars lay under the trees and were burnt and swept away by the labourers). Within two months the trees were a bright green, with thickly blossoming stalks. By mid year there were large, heavy bunches of nuts.
?Ha I knew it,? said Mr. Glut. ?I'm going to prosper. I'm going to make big money. I'm going to gobble them all up. Robinson has gone. Williams will go next. I hear he's in bad water already. Then Brown, then Harris. One by one I shall gobble them up.
I shall control the whole industry in this island.

Late in June Mr. Glut's working expenses had brought the total on the laptop down to 15,676.20. But after the half year's crop had been reaped and sold, he went to town and deposited in the bank the sum of $52,761.40. On his return home he recorded the amount on the laptop, making a total of 68,437.60.
He gave the laptop a pat. ?Good fellow. Good fellow. You're doing fine. You're making me rich. I'll smash those other chaps. Ha, ha. I'm going to be a millionaire. Wait and see.?
On his table Mr. Glut found a letter. It had come by post. He opened it and discovered that it was from a hospital. They were soliciting a donation.
?Donations my big toe!? sneered Mr. Glut and crumpled the letter up, tossing it through the window. ?What am I going to give them a donation for? I want my money for myself. I made it and I'm going to keep it. Let the hospitals take care of themselves.?
He was lifting the laptop to put it back into the soap-box when he noticed something.
A third scab had appeared on the bottom rim. A red scab.
Most odd, thought Mr. Glut, because not a moment ago there had been only two. Where had this third one come from all of a sudden like this? What tricks was the silly thing up to?
He shrugged. Why worry? Let it continue to break out in red spots if it wanted to. What did he care !
That night he celebrated with a large hunk of roast mutton, two bottles of wine and a cake. He ate the meal by himself, devouring every scrap and crumb and draining the two bottles to their dregs. He went to bed happy and exceedingly contented.

CHAPTER 9

On the following morning, while shaving, he noticed that two boils had appeared on his face ? one on either cheek. He frowned, wondering what could be going on with his blood. It was most peculiar. He had never suffered from boils before.
Remembering the abscess not many months ago, he applied ointment at once and stuck a piece of plaster on each boil for safety. He took a large dose of fruit-salts.
By afternoon, however, the boils had grown larger and very painful. He was obliged to sleep flat on his back that night, because even resting his cheeks on the pillow caused him almost unbearable pain.
The next morning the two boils had developed into abscesses, and Mr. Glut lay in bed with fever. The abscesses felt like red-hot spots of fire in his cheeks. Every now and then a dagger would jab through each abscess, and he would cry out in agony. His body blazed with the fever.
He sent Sammy for the doctor, and the doctor came and lanced the abscesses. Only then did Mr. Glut get relief. The pain eased, and the temperature dropped.
The following morning he felt normal again and there was hardly any pain. The abscesses were healing rapidly. But as he lay on his back staring at the rafter and thinking about the money he would make with his next crop, he heard a soft dry chuckle. It came from under the bed. Springing up, he pulled out the soap-box. He looked at the laptop to see what could be wrong with it.
The black section still registered 6,843.76. But Mr. Glut noticed that the red section had altered. Instead of ?24? the number now read ?22?.
?What the devil !? he exclaimed.
From ?24? to ?22?? Why? What had caused the reduction? What confounded absurdity was this?
Then in one flick of revelation Mr. Glut saw it.
For every cent deducted from the debit total he would have to suffer the agony of one abscess.
?Tut, tut! If only I'd known I would have paid the fellow his miserable twenty-five cents!?
Twenty-five abscesses seemed a most painful price to have to pay to clear off a mere twenty-five cents. Tut, tut ! A great pity he had been so mean in his dream. Anyway, it was too late now to think of that. He would have to make up his mind to bear the pain and inconvenience of another twenty-two abscesses. He mustn't grumble, for, after all, things were getting really prosperous for him. This laptop might be odd in its habits, but by Jove, it was certainly serving him well. At the rate he was doing he would soon be wealthy beyond all his hopes. He would be a millionaire. A billionaire. He would be a colossus of finance. He would control world markets. He would be a world power.
What were twenty-two abscesses! Pah!
He paused in these perfervid cogitations. As though an invisible hand had laid hold of his thoughts. The words of the thin grey man came back to him. ?Above all, don't let your money at any time exceed two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. . . This laptop considers any sum in excess of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars an immoral total.?
It was not the first time that this warning had arrested Mr. Glut's excited dreams and ambitions. But now, as on the other occasions, he uttered a sound of con-tempt. To the devil with that ! He would find some way of circumventing the stupid warning. If he had to bury the laptop to smother its snarling and thumping. Nothing would hinder him in making his millions. In fact, once let him get hold of $250,000 and this coconut business could go hang. He would sell out and go in for gambling on the Stock Exchange. He would double and treble his capital in a fortnight. To hell with the snarling of any silly laptop! He
would have it flung into the sea if it persisted in making too much of a din. It could snarl and thump around at the bottom of the sea if it liked !

CHAPTER 10

Exactly as Mr. Glut had surmised, Williams was the next to go down. Williams put up his plantation for sale, and Mr. Glut immediately offered to buy. Williams asked for eight thousand ? he had a wife and family ? but Mr. Glut shook his head. ?My dear fellow,? he said, ?I'm awfully sorry. You don't know how it grieves me to see you in this plight, but eight thousand is quite beyond my means. I have an old invalid mother who is a steady drain on my resources. Only yesterday I had to remit two thousand dollars for her ? and a fortnight ago she had to undergo an operation for gall-stones which cost three thousand.?
?You won't even give seven??
?My dear chap, working expenses are going to be exceptionally heavy this half-year, and your trees are in such bad condition. No, really, much as I would like to assist you in your misfortune, old man, I simply couldn't give you seven.?
?Six??
?To tell you the truth, old chap, I don't think I could see my way to give you as much as six. . .?
So, at length, Mr. Glut brought Williams right down to four thousand five hundred dollars, even though Williams wept.
When all the details of the sale had been settled and Mr. Glut had paid over the four thousand five hundred, he pulled out the laptop, dusted it and muttered: ?One more in my hands. One more. Now, just you kill off those caterpillars for me, there's a good fellow.? He stroked the laptop, noting the three red scabs on the bottom rim and wondering idly why they had appear.
He started back.
Even as he watched, another red scab appeared. Right before his eyes it appeared. He touched it with his finger to make sure that it was real. He turned the laptop upside down and held it to the light.
Yes. There it was. A fourth red scab. Like a speck of paint or ? dried blood. Yes, like dried blood.
A shiver passed down Mr. Glut's back. Then he told himself not to be an imaginative fool. Why should he think it was like dried blood? Absurd. Let him not trouble his head about these red spots. If the thing wanted to throw out red spots let it do so, damn and blast it !
Yet it did give him an uneasy feeling In the back ground of his consciousness. The last three bad appeared after Robinson's visit (that was the first); after the closing of the deal with Robinson (that was the second); and after the receipt and crumpling up of that begging letter from the hospital ? the third. Now the fourth had come out alter the purchase of Williams' plantation. What could be the significance of these scabs?
Oh, why bother? Why bother? They didn't hurt him. They didn't cause him any inconvenience. Forget them. Simply forget them.
Mr. Glut recorded the four thousand five hundred dollar deduction and put away the laptop.

CHAPTER 11

The new plantation flourished. The caterpillars died the trees bloomed and bore abundant fruit.
By the end of the half-year working expenses had reduced the total on the laptop to $60,031.90. But when Mr. Glut went to town he deposited in the bank the sum $62,145.90. On his return home he went into his room and pulled out the laptop preparatory to recording the amount. He was dusting it when a knock sounded on the outer door. A brief, sharp ?tat-tat-tat !?
It was on the door that opened from the verandah into the sitting-room.
Mr. Glut stood still, his skin going hot and rough. Who could it be that wanted him at this time of day? It was most unusual for anyone to visit him at all ? let alone at this time.
?Yes ! Who's that?? he called out. His finger-tips cold.
?Me, boss ! Miguel !? came the answer.
Mr. Glut swore. He stamped out on to the veranda to Miguel. ?What is it, Miguel? What is it? What have you come to bother me about at this time of the evening??
Miguel smiled sheepishly. ?Boss, I come to ask you if you can give me a little more pay, boss.?
?A little more pay !?
?Yes, boss.?
?Aren't you getting enough??
?Boss, my wife get another child, and times hard.?
?Indeed ! The nerve ! The impudence !?
?Times very hard, boss. We got to feed the children.?
?Oh, so ! And what have I got to do with that !
That's your fault for having children. You should learn practise birth-control. It's no affair of mine if you go spawning children like rabbits. I'm paying you too much as it is. If you aren't satisfied with what you're getting you can leave and I'll get a new foreman. There are a dozen others who would be only too eager to fall into your shoes.?
?Boss, times very hard. New baby take more money.?
?Very well. You're sacked. Go and look for a better job where you can
make more money. Come tomorrow and I'll pay you off.?
?No, boss. No. I beg you. I will stay. Don't sack me, boss.?
?Are you satisfied to continue working for what you're getting now, or are you going to come again wailing to me for more??
?No, boss. I won't come again.?
?Very well. But as there is a sky above, if you come to me again with any tale about wanting more money I'll sack you on the spot ? and I won't have you back again if you flatten yourself on your stomach before me and eat the dust under my boots. Is that clear??
?Yes, boss.?
Mr. Glut returned to his room and chortled
?Knew that would scare him. More pay. New baby. Ho, ho ! What does it matter to me how many babies he gets? I've got to keep my working expenses as low as I can. New babies ! To the devil with new babies !
New babies aren't more important than my profits.?
Mr. Glut gave a gasp, craning his head forward.
A new red scab had appeared on the lower rim laptop, making five in all now. When be had left the room a few minutes ago there had been four.
What ruddy nonsense was this ! Where could these scabs be coming from !
Oh, forget it! Forget it! He laughed. Though there was an uneasy note in the laugh. ?Red scabs won't frighten me. Not even blue or green. All damned ruddy nonsense ! Just ruddy nonsense !? 1
Assuring himself that everything was well, he recorded the new amount on the laptop, bringing the total to 12,217.78.
That night he celebrated with a roast chicken, two bottles of wine, a cherry cake and a mug of ice-cream. He ate the meal by himself, devouring every scrap and crumb and drop and draining the bottles to their dregs. He went to bed happy and dreamily contented.

CHAPTER 12

The following morning he woke with the full ex-pectation of finding that two or three bolls had appeared on his face or neck. Such, however, was not the case. He searched his whole body but could find not the slightest trace of any boil or skin eruption.
?Well, well. That's odd. What about the debt?
Surely I'm not going to be let off this time.?
Out of curiosity he brought out the laptop and looked at it. It still registered ?22?. He guffawed briefly and put it away, though deep within him he felt puzzled and not entirely at ease.
Throughout the morning he kept looking at his face in a small pocket-mirror to see whether any boils had appeared. He would come to a sudden halt on the path- way and look around to see that no one was observing him then bring out his mirror and gaze anxiously at his face and neck. He would pass his hands over his body even open his shirt and look at his chest. But there were no boils.
Nine o'clock . Ten o'clock . Eleven. Still no boils. No eruptions of the skin or any other afflictions.
Mr. Glut felt nervy and apprehensive. He would have preferred if the boils had appeared first thing this morning as they had done on the previous occasions. This waiting for them was annoying. Made him jumpy.
At noon when he was returning to the bungalow after his usual tour of inspection round the plantation, be became aware of a burnrng sensation in two or three of the toes of his right foot. He thought this odd, as he never suffered from corns.
On getting home, he took off his right boot and saw that two painfull corns bad begun to form on the third and fourth toes, respectively, and on the side of the great toe there was a redness which seemed to indicate that a bunion was developing.
Mr. Glut applied ointment, padded his boot with cotton wool, and decided not to make a fuss. Then It occurred to him that perhaps this was the form the payment of the debt was taking on this occasion. Instead of abscesses, bunions and corns ! He laughed. The thing was becoming decidedly farcical. Two corns and one bunion ? three cents. Ho, ho, ho. What a scream of joke !
By evening, however, Mr. H edge bad ceased to see the humour of the situation. By evening he was compelled to keep to the house. He could not wear his right boot. The corns became livid and fierce. They felt like hot needles continually stabbing into the bones of his toes. And the bunion was like a live coal struck to the side of his great toe.
Many times during the next week Mr. H edge found himself blubbering like a schoolgirl. Often He would howl and dance around the room. He tried all sorts of ointments and liniments, healing oils and bath-salts, but to no avail. The hot needles stabbed into the bones of his toes. The live coal seared the side of his great toe.
After eight days of this torture, the corns and bunion began to subside. The corns dried up and eventually dropped off, and the bunion grew less inflamed until the pain it caused ceased altogether.
When Mr. Glut examined the laptop he saw that the red section had altered from ?22? to ?19?. Two corns and one bunion from ?22? left ?19?.
Mr. Glut gave a weak smile, trying to feel amused and contemptuous of the whole thing, though his system felt a bit shaky from the ordeal through which he had just passed.
Putting away the laptop, he sighed and told himself that those two corns and that bunion had been far too painful to be valued at only three cents. However, he must not grumble. He had had his chance to pay the twenty-five cents Mr. Lewis had asked for the laptop and he had been too mean to pay it, so he must suffer. And, in any case, he was well prepared to suffer the pain of nineteen more corns and bunions ? or abscesses ? if it meant increasing his wealth at the rate it was increasing. He would suffer any torture so long as it meant money. Money. Dollars. Thousands of dollars. Hundreds of thousands. Millions. Billions. Yes, any torture, no matter how terrible and excruciating, no matter how many tears of pain he had to shed, no matter if he had to writhe and twist himself into a tree-root-like knot of agony. Pah ! Nineteen more corns and bunions ! Or abscesses !

CHAPTER 13

During the next half-year the caterpillars did not worry Mr. Glut's two remaining rivals, Brown and Harris, and neither of these two gentlemen put up their plantations for sale. On the contrary, it seemed as though a period of prosperity were about to set in for Messrs Brown and Harris, for their trees began to bloom and bear even as plentifully as Mr. Glut's. Their crop at the end of this half-year promised to be exceptionally abundant.
Mr. Glut was disturbed. This did not suit him. He had hoped to oust both Brown and Harris during the course of this half-year. Things had gone badly with them during the past year and a half and he had expected them to put up their plantations for sale. Now it seemed as though their luck had changed. They were going to do well, which meant, of course, that their creditors would not press them this half-year, and in another year's time they would have paid off their debts and recovered to such an extent that they would not want to sell out. No, that would not do. Some action, decided Mr. Glut, would have to be taken in the matter.
Mr. Glut sat down to think, and after thinking for some time, conceived a plan. The wages paid to coconut pickers on all the plantations were, by mutual agreement, stable. That is to say, Messrs. Brown and Harris paid the same as Mr. Glut, even though they were not half as prosperous. Ordinary labourers were paid eighty cents per hour, gang-foremen a dollar and head foreman (like Miguel) a dollar twenty cents. Now, suppose, thought Mr. Glut, he announced two or three weeks before reaping time, that he was prepared to pay a dollar to ordinary labourers, a dollar twenty to gang-foremen and a dollar forty cents to his head foreman, and, further, that he required double the amount of labourers than of yore. It would mean that Brown and Harris would not be able to get any labour. The labour would flock to Mr. Glut in entirety. Brown and Harris would be unable to compete with the prices paid by Mr. Glut. It would mean that their crops would remain unreaped. Their creditors would begin to press them, and if their crops were reaped late they would miss the market and get such poor prices that they would be ruined ? utterly ruined.
Mr. Glut carried out this plan ? and it worked. Brown and Harris' came to him and pleaded with him not to take such a step, that it would ruin them. They couldn't afford to pay such high rates. Even the old rates would have strained their resources considerably. In the name of compassion and out of consideration for their families would Mr. Glut refrain from doing this thing?
Mr. Glut told them that business was business. ?I need all the labour I can get this half-year-end, old chaps, and I'm prepared to pay for it. And think of these poor fellows! They're badly off, old men. It's only fair that I should pay them well. They've been appealing to me for a long time for a raise in their wages. Their families are ill-fed and ill-clad. They're in misery. I've got to think of their welfare, old boys,? said Mr. Glut, moisture in his eyes. ?My heart,? he finished, ?bleeds for them, old chaps.?
Within two days Brown and Harris were ready to sell out. Mr. Glut bought Brown's plantation for four thousand and Harris's for five.
No sooner had he closed the deal and acquired the two new plantations when Mr. Glut announced that the scale of wages would have to remain as before. ?I've spent nine thousand on those two new plantations, Miguel,? said Mr. Glut. ?I can't afford to raise wages now. It would ruin me. Go and tell them that. I can't help if they're disappointed. I've got to consider myself.?
Alone in his room, Mr. Glut rubbed his hands together. He threw back his head and laughed. ?I've outwitted them! They didn't think I was so clever. Jove! I've ousted them all now. I'm sole master of the whole coconut industry in this island. Sole master! The labourers are in my hands now. I ? and I alone - dictate the price of wages. From now on they'll take what I give them ? or starve. Ha-ha-ha-ha!?
He pulled out the laptop to record the nine thousand-dollar deduction. As he placed it on the table something caught his eye. He recoiled and paled.
On the bottom rim of the laptop a red blotch had appeared. The sixth. But this was no mere spot like the others. The five others were tiny things varying between the size of a pin-head and the head of a small nail. But this new one was about the size of a shilling. An ugly thing like a spatter of freshly dried blood. It had a scaly, sinister look, and watching it, Mr. Glut felt a clammy hand closing around his heart.
For a long while he stood staring at the repulsive thing. Then gradually he thought he could see the significance of it.
For every mean or corrupt act he committed one red spot appeared. On the first occasion be had told Robinson a deliberate lie when Robinson had come to ask him what was responsible for the healthy condition of his trees. Just a tiny pin-head spot had come out as a result of that lie. The second spot had come out after the deal with Robinson ? that deal in which he had taken advantage of Robinson's hopeless plight to gobble up his plantation for a sum far below the value of the property. That second spot had been a trifle larger. The third spot had resulted from his crumpling up and contemptuously ignoring the begging letter from the hospital: a spot no larger than the second. The fourth and fifth had been the size of nail-heads: the purchase of William's plantation and the refusal to raise Miguel's wages. And now the sixth ? a blotch.
Mr. Glut stroked his cheek uneasily. ?I don't like this,? he murmured.
After a moment, however, he grunted and recorded the nine-thousand-dollar deduction. To the devil with the damned spots! Let a dozen of them appear! Let the whole laptop become, splashed with them. What did he care! So long as they didn't hinder him in his career. So long as the dollars piled up the whole laptop could turn red. Green if it wanted. Blue. Yellow or pink. He didn't care.

CHAPTER 14

At the end of the reaping, the laptop registered $109,26l.70. But Mr. Glut went to town and deposited in the bank the sum $94,278.10. On his return home, he pulled out the laptop and recorded the amount which brought the total to $203,539.80.
That night he celebrated with a roast turkey, two bottles of wine, a cherry cake, a prune cake and a mug of ice-cream. He ate the meal by himself, devouring every scrap and crumb and drop and draining the bottles to their dregs. He patted his stomache and nodded and sighed, telling himself that this was the life. He went to bed happy and glutted with contentment.
The following morning be sent to town and bought a pair of felt slippers in readiness for the corns and bunions. The slippers arrived shortly before noon . But at noon no signs of corns and bunions had appeared. He took off his boots and examined his toes. No redness. No burning. He took off his clothes and examined every inch of his body, but could find no boils or eruptions.
During the afternoon be was in an agony of suspense, wondering what form the afflictions would take this time. He strode up and down, frowning and glancing about the room as though fearful of some invisible plague waiting to pounce on him from out of a corner.
One o'clock . No boils or corns or bunions. Nothing. Two o'clock . Still nothing.
Sweat oozed from his face. His finger-tips felt cold, and were purple. Once be found himself trembling. Once be pulled out the laptop to make sure that the debt still stood at ?19?, hoping that by some odd chance it might have reduced of its own volition and so let him off on this occasion.
As in the back of his mind be had dreaded, the hope was a vain one. The debt still stood at ?19?.
Three o'clock . No boils, no corns, no bunions. Four o'clock . Nothing. The sweat continued to pour out of Mr. Glut. He used up three handkerchiefs.
Shortly after four, a low thump sounded in the sitting room.
Mr. Glut nearly cried out with terror. He pulled open the door and looked out.
It was only Sammy laying the table for tea.
Mr. Glut rushed out and grasped him by the hair.
?What the bloody hell do you mean by padding around the place like a confounded tiger-cat! In future see and walk like a human being. Let that teach you!? Mr. Glut clouted Sammy. Kicked him on his shin.
Returning into his room, Mr. Glut sat down on his bed and stared out at the fronds of his coconut trees glittering in the hot sunshine. He felt miserable. A hopeless sack of nerves. Why couldn't the damned corns come out and be done with! Or if not corns, well, whatever else it was that was going to plague him. What was the idea of this suspense? He hated suspense.
Five o'clock . Still nothing. Six. Nothing. Darkness closed down