The Shift of Numbers Read Online Free Page A

, as you put it) works perfectly well.”
    “Well, how much would it cost me?” said Bill sceptically with a glint in his eye.
    “I know your situation and it wouldn’t cost you any money as such. The share price as it stands is very low. All you would have to do is give me 50 thousand shares. Either from the half million you own or buy them for me.
    Bill looked on bemused then pulled out a pen from his top pocket, writing something on the back of a beer mat. “So you want me to giv e you nearly 40 thousand pounds for a fertili s er that may or may not work. Thanks, but no thanks, ” Bill laughed.
    “No , no, perhaps I…” coughs repeatedly , “…didn’t explain it right. You keep hold of the shares until you see how well the formula works then you give them to me. You give me nothing up front.”
    “Oh , I see. That seems a bit to o good to be true. What’s to stop me from keeping the fertili s er and not giving you the shares after I’ve grown me carrots?”
    “I will go to the press and tell them you have been using my formula.”
    “What dif ference will that make to me?” s aid Bill, puzzled again.
    “While the formula does work , and I can assure you of that, i t’s not exactly been tested properly.”
    After 2 hours of further debate , the Scientist held out a sca r red hand, which strangely had no fingernails. Bill spat in his palm and with a handshake the deal was struck. Bill settled back in his chair and winked at Gordon’s boss who had just entered the bar.
    “Drink , Bill?” h e shouted, wiggling his hand in the air.
    A thumb in the air replied. “And one for my new friend . ”
     
    *
     
    If anyone had looked to the west on his or her walk home from the pub that evening, they would have seen a figure silhouetted in the moonlight. The shadowy figure seemed to be digging a small hole in Bill ’ s garden. Occasionally , a glint from what looked like gold bounce d playfully off the figure ’ s hand.
     
    *
     
    “Would you believe it?” exclaimed Richard for the 100 th time that day. The recipient of Richard’s astonishment was his bored looking fiancé e . “I can see properly again. I told you that the carrots would work, didn’t I?”
    “Yes , you did , Richard,” replied his fiancé e without looking up from the television guide .
    “What do you want for dinner? I ’ve just got this new cookbook, ” Richard effused.
    “I thought we could eat out for a change . ”
    “We can’t go out. Nowhere caters for my dietary requirements.”
    “So we ’ re never going to eat out again?” came an exasperated response.
     
    *
     
    As Gordon waited for the bus he became acutely aware of the endless stream of cars going in the direction he wanted to go. It was a quarter to 3 in the afternoon and he was on his way to the job centre. He was the only person at the bus stop, the only person it seemed without his own means of transport. He pas sed the time by staring up the road past a distant hedgerow, expectantly waiting to see the top of a red double-decker bus. As he waited, it suddenly struck him the shee r amount of money that was speeding past his eyes: each car, from the clapped- out old banger to the luxury sports car , was worth something. On average he figured each car must be worth a few 1000 pounds , not to mention the money spent on fuel. Every few sec onds, a different model sped its way past him, some with air-conditioning, others with furry dice.
    As he waited, growing colder and con sider ably later, he wondered what the odds were that 1 of these cars would stop and offer him a lift. In all his years of waiting at bus stops it had never happene d, so the odds must be quite low . He then thought about all the money that went into building these cars and the money individuals spent on them. Then there were the roads themselves, snaking all over the country with no real plan, connecting up everyone, haphazardly avoiding hills and water, like veins. Every evening , human cargo