Michael Malone - Weebly

earned money, and money overflowed like the buckets
of the sorcerer's apprentice. In New York, the
corporation that was Sammy Smalter had lawyers and
managers to find something to do with it. He made
money because he gave money away; in the name of
the corporation, his lawyers had charitably saved
children, whales, clinics, theaters, alcoholics,
paraplegics, nuns, lungs, and the birthplace of a
Victorian poet. Ironically, he even made money
because the pharmacy in Dingley Falls lost money. And
that the pharmacy did lose money was the one fact of
Mr. Smalter's finances that his fellow Dingleyans knew
for certain.
"Poor little fellow," Father Highwick had said to his
curate. "He hasn't a head for business at all. Really, it
wouldn't be usurious to ask people to pay some little
part of their bills, would it? A lady, I don't think you've
had a chance to meet her yet, Jonathan, told me in
confessional she owed Mr. Smalter three hundred and
fifty dollars for insulin and allergy pills (poor thing) and
hadn't paid a penny on her account in five years. I don't
know how we got onto that subject because the point