In this situation, Gilbert was setting up the circumstances, where I was to test their parameters. (This, very roughly, is the process “equation hunters” use to determine a Matrimatical proof.)

"You said Gilbert gave you this cab?" I began.

"Almost he did sir, along with a lifetime permit to drive it, too!”

Without thinking I said, "My God, what would the cost on a gift like this be?"

Silence, only that time the expression in his eyes was admonitory, small surprise. That could mean anything though. Almost a gift, I thought, and he won’t or can’t talk about the job or destination, best I try a different approach. "How was Gilbert when you saw him?"

Again the silence and the pained determination; I was pretty sure at this point that he didn't like to be rude.

In a flash of inspiration I got an idea where Gilbert was going with his “instructions” – it fit well with one of my personal characteristics too - I like people and I don’t like to be rude, "What are your children's names?"

"Paul and Gloria…"

Bingo! His eyes were happy and eager as he continued.

"Paul is the older; he's graduated college and got a nice cushy job at IBM, space laboratories division. Gloria got married a couple years ago to a real fine gentleman who works for Willard Greenway Industrial Farming Products. He travels a bit too much for her likes, but she says it gives her time to work on her other projects without his butting in. No kids from her yet. She always was an independent little cuss. Paul's got two strong young lads, three and four years of age. You wanna see their pictures?"

"Sure."

The conversation went on from here and I learned a surprising amount of things about Mr. George Lous Martin. But I progressively determined only one clear fact; every time I asked a non-personal question, George would clam up.

My involvement with George lasted six miles, nine minutes (by the cab meter), on a short trip to a private runway I had no idea existed so close to where I lived. For all I knew, Gilbert could have had it built just for this occasion. But I doubted it at first. I didn't think he would go that far.

I remember thinking, “Three, six, nine; it's going to be a wonderful time.” Three minutes off by my cuckoo clock, six miles traveled, nine minutes in travel time. (The fact that I was noticing time factors only helped to convince me of these fated good times ahead.)

I've never been a numerologist, but back then I had chosen numeric sequences which would indicate, highlight the importance of an event or a situation for me. (I dislike that memory of myself. But it illustrates my ‘mind set’ as it used to be: Hoping for inspiration, rather than making my part in it.)

As George pulled up close to the plane I began to chuckle. Only a Shasta would have a private plane painted in such a manner: A brilliant starburst of yellow, accentuated by streaks of white, decorated the nose of the jet. From here the forward section grew from sky blue into a sunset purple, until just past the wings. From the sunset purple the rear section and the wings themselves grew darker and darker into a midnight purple. And within these darkest sections were spots of white: representing stars. It was a sleek looking little craft, a smaller version of the old British Concorde.

When I glanced at George, he too, was quite pleased with the jet. - George seemed to love beautiful machines. - He sat there admiring the plane for a couple of moments before he looked into the rear view mirror at me. He shook his head brusquely, once, as if to clear his mind, then opened his door and stepped out. I got out on the opposite side of the cab and stood by the door admiring the plane while George proceeded to retrieve my bag from the trunk. When he closed the trunk he looked over at me and noticed that I was admiring the jet. When I returned his look, he broke eye contact for a moment by glancing up and to his right with his eyes. He seemed to be deciding something. When he again looked at me he said, "Mr. Shasta sure has fine tastes in machines. You can tell him I said so. I think." He broke eye contact again, this time looking down and to the left. He continued as if speaking loudly to himself, "I sure wouldn't mind working for a man with his tastes. He seems to find some of the most particular kinds of luxuries." George then raised his eyes, but only far enough to take in his shiny Yellow Cab.

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