Henry Kuttner

“ You’ve got to be elastic to survive in a changing culture. Back in the stable Twenties, Foster would have got along beautifully, but now, in a word, he just wasn’t on the ball. A man like that seeks stable security as his ultimo, and security seemed to have vanished.
The result was that Jerry Foster found himself out of a job, badly in debt, and drinking far more than he should have done. The only real advantage to that set-up was that alcohol buffered Foster’s incredulity when he encountered the affectionate juke-box. ”

“ Foster stayed where he was. There was a bottle on the bar near him, and he captured it. Rather dimly, he realized what was happening. An ambulance was summoned. A doctor said the blond man had been painfully shocked, but was still alive. The juke-box had a smashed panel, but appeared uninjured otherwise. Austin came from somewhere and poured himself a shot from under the bar.
“ ‘Each man kills the thing he loves,’ ” Austin said to Foster. “You’re the guy who was quoting Omar at me the other night, aren’t you?” ”

“ He didn’t recall what had happened for a couple of days, till Sammy looked him up and gave him nine hundred dollars, the result of Helping Hand coming in under the wire at Oaklawn. The long shot had paid off surprisingly.
Foster instantly went on a binge, finding himself eventually at a downtown bar he recognized. Austin was off duty, however, and Betty wasn’t present tonight. So Foster, tanked to the gills, leaned his elbow on polished mahogany and stared around. Toward the back was the juke-box. ”

“ Then he stared around, located the juke-box, and went toward it.
“Hello, there,” he said, patting the sleek, glowing sides. “I’m back. Drunk, too. But that’s all right. Let’s have that song.”
The juke-box was silent. Foster felt Lois touch his arm.
“Come on back. We don’t want music.”
“Wait a minute, hon.”
Foster stared at the juke-box. Then he laughed.
“I know,” he said, and pulled out a handful of change. He slid a nickel into the coin-lever and pushed the lever hard. ”

“ Foster said.
Austin nodded at the motionless figure being loaded on a stretcher.
“Funny business. That fella used to come in all the time just to play the juke-box. He was in love with the thing. Sat here by the hour listening to it. Course, when I say he was in love with it, I’m merely using a figure of speech, catch?”
“Sure,” Foster said.
“Then a couple of days ago he blows up. Crazy as a loon. I come in and find the guy on his knees in front of the juke-box, begging it to forgive him for something or other. ”

“ And the ground wasn’t so solid any more, what with the newspaper headlines and new patterns for living emerging out of the vast technological and sociological changes the mid-Twentieth Century offered. ”

“ They play by ear, but they don’t know G sharp from A flat.”
“They don’t, eh?” Foster murmured.
The girl eyed him intently. “Suppose you run through it, and I’ll mark down a rough scoring.”
Foster hit a few chords. “Phooey!” he said at last, and picked up the lyrics. Those were readable, anyway. He began to hum.
“Swell,” Lois said. “Just sing it. I’ll catch the melody.”
Foster’s voice was true, and he found it surprisingly easy to remember the love song the juke-box had played. He sang it, and Lois presently played it on the piano, while Foster corrected and revised. ”

“ I don’t get it. Some people shouldn’t drink, I guess. What’s yours?”
“The same,” Foster said, watching the ambulance men carry the stretcher out of the bar.
“Just mild electric shock,” an intern said. “He’ll be all right.”
The juke-box clicked, and a new record swung across. Something must have gone wrong with the amplification, for the song bellowed out with deafening intensity.
“ ‘Chlo-eee!’ ” screamed the juke-box urgently. “ ‘Chlo-eeee!’ ”
Deafened, fighting the feeling that this was hallucination, Foster found himself beside the juke-box. ”