As it happened, that problem was already solved. The cobwebs and thick black dust in the ceiling space and my habit of dog-earing pages had worked their wonders all the way through Volume One and the mud in the gutter had reduced it to a soggy mess.
“Look at this,” the salesman wailed. “It looks like it’s been to hell and back.”
“Yeah,” Horrie muttered, “And so will the bloody boy by the time I’m finished with him.“
    Audie Murphy might have been the most decorated war hero ever but his experiences in To Hell and Back would indeed pale compared to what would happen when Horrie got his hands on me. I was hiding behind a large fireman and wondering if they might be interested in taking me back to their fire station with them.
“Someone’s gonna have to pay for this,” the salesman wailed.
“You got yer bloody book back. Now piss off,” Horrie told him firmly.
“I can’t take this back to the agency. They’ll fire me. You gotta take it and pay for it. It’s the only way.”
    Horrie could see the argument was not unreasonable. The book had taken on the general appearance of me and everything I owned.
“What if I do?”
“They come in a set. You have to buy the other nine volumes as well.”
Horrie threw him out in the street and the book flew after him.
“I’m getting the police!” the man threatened from a safe distance. “You won’t be getting away with this!”