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He didn't look like a stickup artist if it came to that； I'd have taken him for an insurance salesman down on his luck。 He was short； slight and balding； and his goldrimmed glasses pinched cruelly at his nose。 His features were utterly nondescript； a Walter Mitty caricature of despair； and I couldn't help remembering that some of our more notable assassins have been Walter Mitty types。
Then I saw Fast Eddie over at the piano slide his hand down to his boot for the little blackjack he carries for emergencies； and began trying to remember if my insurance was paid up。 The scrawny gunman locked eyes with Callahan； holding the cannon steady as a rock； and Callahan smiled。
〃Want a drink to wash it down with？〃 he asked。
The guy with the gun ran out of determination all at once and lowered the piece； looking around him vaguely。 Callahan pointed to the fireplace； and the guy nodded thanks。 The gun described a lazy arc and landed in the pile of glass with a sound like change rattling in a pocket。
You might almost have thought the gun had shattered a window that kept out a storm； but the whooshing sound that followed was really only the noise of a couple dozen guys all exhaling at the same time。 Fast Eddie's hand slid back up his leg； and Callahan said softly； 〃You forgot the toast； friend。〃
I expected that to confuse the guy； but it seemed he knew something about Callahan's Place after all； because he just nodded and made his toast。
〃To progress。〃
I could see people all up and down the bar firing up their guessers； but nobody opened his trap。 We waited to see if the guy felt like telling us what his beef with progress was； and when you understand that you will have gone a long way toward understanding what Callahan's Place is all about。 I'm sure anywhere else folks'd figure that a man who'd just waved a gun around owed 'em an explanation； if not a few teeth。 We just sat there looking nonmittal and hoping he'd let it out。
He did。
〃I mean； progress is something with no pity and no purpose。 It just happens。 It chews up all you ever knew and spits out things you can't understand and the only value it seems to have is to make a few people a lot of money。 What the hell is the sense of progress anyway？〃
〃Keeps the dust off ya；〃 said Slippery Joe Maser seriously。 Now Joe； as you know； has two wives； and there sure as hell ain't no dust on him。
〃I suppose you're right；〃 said the clerical … looking burglar； 〃but I'd surely appreciate a little dust just at the moment。 I was hip … deep in it for years； and I didn't know how well off I was。〃
〃Well； take this to cut it with；〃 said Callahan； and held out a gin…and…gin。 As he handed it over； his other hand came up from behind the bar with a sawed off shotgun in it。 〃I'll be damned；〃 said Callahan； noticing it for the first time； 〃Forgot I had that in my hand。〃 He put it back under the bar； and the balding bandit swallowed。
〃Now then； brother； pull up a chair and tell us your name； and if you've got troubles I never heard before I'll give you the case of your choice。〃
〃Make it I。 W。 Harper。〃
〃Pleased to meet you； Mr。 Harp … oooooooch！〃 said Doc Webster； the last rising syllable occasioned by Long…Drink McGonnigle's size nines having e down hard on the Doc's instep。 Pretty quick on the uptake； that Long…Drink。
〃My name is Hauptman；〃 the fellow said； picking up the drink。 〃Thomas Hauptman。 I'm a。。。〃 He took a long pull。 〃That is； I used to be a minister。〃
〃And then God went and died and now what the hell do you do； is that it？〃 asked Long…Drink with genuine sympathy。
〃Something like that；〃 Hauptman agreed。 〃He died of malaria in a stinking little cell in a stinking little town in a stinking little banana republic called Pasala； and his name was Mary。〃 Ice cubes clicked against his teeth。
〃Your wife？〃 asked Callahan after a while。
〃Yes。 My wife。 No one dies of malaria any more； do you know that？ I mean； they licked that one years ago。〃
〃How'd it happen？〃 Doc asked gently； and as Callahan refilled glasses all around； the Time…Traveler told us history。
Mary and I （he said） had a special game we played between ourselves。 Oh； all couples play the same game； I suppose； but we knew we were doing it； and we never cheated。
You see； as many of you are no doubt aware； it is often difficult for a man and a woman to agree （sustained audience demonstration； signifying hearty agreement）。。。 even a minister and his wife。 Almost any given course of action will have two sides： she wants to spend Sunday driving in the country； and he wants to spend it watching the football people sell razor blades。
How is the dilemma resolved？ Often by histrionics； at ten paces。 She will emote feverishly on the joys of a country drive； entering rapture as she portrays the heartstopping beauty to be found along Route 25A at this time of year。 He； in turn； will roll his eyes and saw his hands as he attempts to convey through the wholly inadequate vocabulary of word and gesture how crucial this particular game is to both the History of Football and the Scheme of Things。
The winner gets； in lieu of an Oscar； his or her own way。
It's a fairly reasonable system； based on the theory that the pitch of your performance is a function of how important the goal is to you。 If you recognize that you're being out … acted； you realize how important this one is to your spouse； and you acquiesce。
The not…cheating es right there … in not hamming it up just to be the winner （unless； rarely； that's the real issue）； and in admitting you've been topped。
That's why when Mary brought God into the argument … a highly unfair； last…ditch gambit for a minister's wife … I gave in and agreed that we would spend my vacation visiting her sister Corinne。
I had given up a congregation over in Sayville； not very far from here。 Frankly Mary and I had had all the Long Island we could take。 We hadn't even any plans： we intended to take a month's vacation； our first in several years； and then decide where to settle next。 I wanted to spend the month with friends in Boulder； Colorado； and Mary wanted to visit her sister in a little fly…speck banana republic called Pasala。 Corinne was a nurse with the Peace Corps； and they hadn't seen each other for seven or eight years。
As I said； when a minister's wife begins to tell him about missionary zeal； it is time to capitulate。 We said good…bye to my successor； Reverend Davis； promised to send a forwarding address as soon as we had one； and pushed off in the winter of 1963。
We divided the voyage between discussing the growing unpleasantness in a place called Viet Nam； and arguing over whether to ultimately settle on the West or East Coast。 We both gave uncertain； shaky performances； and the issue was tabled。
Meeting Corinne for the first time I was terribly struck by a dissimilarity of the sisters。 Where Mary's hair was a rich； almost chocolate brown； Corinne's was a decidedly vivid red。 Where Mary's features were round； Corinne's were square； with pronounced cheekbones。 Where Mary was small and soft； Corinne was long and lithe。 They were both very； very beautiful； but the only c