“Yes. Harlow Milbers.”
“Your office must have been close to the place where the blind man hangs out.”
“About two blocks from the bank — in that goofy old-time studio building around the corner. Mr. Milbers had a little studio up there.”
“What did he do?”
“Research work in connection with a private hobby of his. He had a theory that all military campaigns follow certain lines, that defence is of no value against aggression until aggression has expanded itself past a certain point, that no country can ever achieve anything permanent through aggression because once you start aggression there’s no place to stop. No matter how much force you have or how much initial impetus, you eventually arrive at a point where you’re vulnerable. The more powerful you are at the start, the farther your conquests take you, and the more extended your fronts are — but then you’re not interested in all that.”
“It’s an interesting theory,” Bertha said.
“He was going to write a book on it, and he dictated a lot of notes to me. It was a nice job.”
Bertha said, “Well, if you decide you want to do something about that automobile accident, let me know. I presume you can get five hundred or a thousand. There’s nerve shock, you know, and—”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want a thing for the nerve shock, just for the loss of time and my doctor’s bills.”
“Well, of course,” Bertha explained, “when you start collecting from an insurance company, there are certain expenses involved, and people usually try to get all they can, so that enough will be left after they pay expenses. But think it over, dearie. You have my card, and you can always get in touch with me.”