.. T, .. . - • -vi u -u« your holdings and made some investments."

tion running rampant. But not an invisible barbe- J6

cue. There's no market for that."

"Try mauve," another man suggested.

"I paid you five hundred dollars," Wimpler shouted.

"Nonrefundable," Ernie snapped. "You understood that when you came in. Nonrefundable. Now, we have other people to see, Mister Simple, so if you're finished? ... We have a man to see about a back scratcher that's supposed to revolutionize the art of scratching your back."

"That sounds interesting," said one of the other

10

who was the trustee for his parents' estate and asked him how much money was left.

"Nothing," the man answered.

"Nothing?" Elmo said. "How can that be? There's a mistake." Please lei there be a mistake, he thought.

"I'm sorry, Elmo, but I saw a chance to increase

"I didn't authorize any investments," Wimpler snapped.

"I know," said the banker, sounding huffy over the phone. "But I knew you wouldn't mind. So I put your money in gold."

"And gold dropped from eight hundred to six hundred an ounce. I should have something left."

"No," the banker explained patiently. "I bought on margin. The two-hundred-dollar drop wiped you out. Sorry about that."

"My house," said Wimpler. "I can mortgage it. What can I get?"

11

"Too late. You really should have called me last week. I mortgaged your house."

"Damn," snarled Wimpler.

"Well, if you let me know once in a while what's on your mind . . ." the banker said. "I can't read minds, you know. Anyway, if I can be of any more . . ."

Wimpler hung up.

He was broke.

Ruined.