
We had that page made up to show how profit rose in various places after a jukebox was put in. We had some wonderful statistics there, with real names and real dates and most of the rest was basically true also.
And that was all the pitch Lippit gave the man, because what else was needed? Lippit could afford to be a pig without acting like one, since there was no competition. And he could leave a few things unsaid. Like the down payment, for security, part of which was not returnable. Like what was willful damage? And like when is a repair more than fifty a month? And what do you think happens when you say no to all this, Mister Stonewall?
Probably nothing, as a matter of fact, since Lippit had not acted the pig in a very long time.
“So you read this thing over,” said Lippit, “and you look at the contract, Mister Stonewall, and I’ll send a crew over tomorrow so you can look at the machine.”
“You mean you’re going to put your machine…”
“You want to try it out, don’t you?” said Lippit. “And if there’s something you don’t understand, Jack St Louis here will be over tomorrow and explain away what is troubling you.”
Which was all the pressure Lippit ever needed these days, my going around and explaining things. It was not the same as in the beginning, but at this point it made quite enough money. It was faintly boring for Lippit and me, but we never talked about that, just about money. Not that he and I had been broke that time we joined up, but there had been more action.
