Death and Taxes

"It's a crime, Your Honor," said the young man with the dreamy eyes and paint-smeared sport-shirt. "The Council not only proposes tearing down this picturesque landmark, but would thereby destroy the home of our only local ghost."

"Really, Mr. Masterson!" The mayor smiled to show he knew Jerry Masterson was only kidding, then brandished a State Highway Commission report recommending that the antiquated Waukeena Lighthouse be demolished. "Mr. Masterson, we respect your feelings as an artist, and are well aware of the local superstition regarding the ghost of Captain MacGreggor, but this building is over seventy years old and needs expensive repairs. The financial burden is too great for our metropolis of less than fifteen hundred souls. The State has disavowed responsibility, and--"

"Your Honor!"

"The chair recognizes Mr. Higgins."

"As president of the Historical Society, I wish to state we vigorously oppose the wrecking of this building. One by one, our landmarks have fallen. Are we to hand down to our children a community without pride of ancestry? Are we--?"

"Your Honor," bellowed another voice. "As a member of the Taxpayers League...."

For two hours, sentiment battled hotly with double-entry bookkeeping. Then the City Council expressed its deep regrets to the Historical Society--and unanimously accepted the bid of Sam Schultz Salvage Company. Mr. Schultz handed the Council his check for five hundred dollars and was authorized to begin wrecking immediately.

"First thing tomorrow morning," Mr. Schultz promised.

* * * * *

Tomorrow morning! As he walked into the spring night, toward the old, decaying house where he lived alone, Jerry Masterson felt sadness. His own difficulties had prepared him to admit life was geared to financial considerations. But things had come to a pretty pass when even a ghost was not safe from dollars and cents. "Poor Captain Wully," he said without realizing he spoke aloud.

"Aye, aye," said a voice. "Poor Wully MacGreggor. As a ghost in good standing, a dues-paying member of Asmodeus Local of the United Lighthouse Haunters of America, Wully never done nothin' to deserve this. Evicted! Got a smoke, matey?"

Jerry Masterson did a double-take. Out of reflex courtesy, he proffered a cigarette and was about to strike a match when his companion reached slightly to the left, where several coals glowed in mid-air. Selecting one, the stranger said, "Thank you, Junior. You can go now." He turned, lit Jerry's cigarette and his own.

"All right, joker," said Jerry. "Show me how you did it and I'll show you a couple of card tricks and a disappearing penny routine."

"Later," said the stranger. "Right now, matey, my sails is draggin' and I need spiritual reinforcement--liquid. And you're buying."

"There's a fifth of Scotch in my studio, but I'm not pouring for any phony tricksters. I've been saving it till I sold a canvas."

"Scotch," sighed the stranger ecstatically. "Shades of the Loch Ness Monster! Quit scratching, Gertrude."

"Gertrude?"

"My cat--she's black. A handsome beastie if you overlook a hole in her head. A twenty-two caliber hole. Gertrude, materialize for the nice man."

Nothing happened, and Jerry diplomatically sought to ease a situation that was rapidly becoming embarrassing. "Maybe she's bashful."