Do I really have to do this, Daddy?”
Mr. diAngelo put down his spoon. “Yes, Veronica, you do,” he said. “In the first place, you said you’d like to have a trip to Rome—”
“But you can afford to pay for it …,” Veronica protested.
“Of course I can,” said Mr. diAngelo. “But that’s not the point. You need to learn what it’s like to earn something. I’ve given you all the help I can by buying you the camera. You have to do the rest. I’m certain you can do it, too.”
“Well, I’m sure I can,” said Veronica. “After all, all the other kids who enter the contest are just going to be sending in pictures of their pets or their parents or their baby brothers and sisters. I’m sure the store will be only too happy to see what I send them, when I figure out what would truly be different. But everything I’ve thought of so far is pretty dull or else hasn’t worked.”
The maid reappeared to remove the soup plates and then to serve the lamb chops, asparagus, and lyonnaise potatoes. None of the diAngelos spoke as dinner was served. They didn’t like to talk about personal matters in front of the servants. Veronica’s mother had explained to her at an early age that one never could tell what servants might gossip about. When the door shut silently behind the maid, the conversation picked up again.
“I mean, you talk about how difficult and boring it was for you to have to fly all the way to Richmondtoday, but that sounds much more interesting than the day I had,” said Veronica.
Mr. diAngelo took a taste of his lamb chop and made a slight face. “I told you, I like it pink, not overdone,” he said to Mrs. diAngelo.
“I told the cook that four times,” Mrs. diAngelo said. “I guess I’ll just have to fire her.”
“But Daddy,” asked Veronica, “wasn’t there anything interesting about your day?”
“Well, the clouds outside the airplane were quite lovely. The storm cloud particularly. Of course, we were miles away from it, but you can see great distances when you’re in the sky. It’s quite spectacular sometimes.”
“Wow! That’s it!” said Veronica.
“What’s it?” her mother asked.
“I should go up in the plane and take pictures from up there. It’s got to be more interesting than baby brothers and pets wearing baseball caps. It’s certainly more interesting than a rider falling off a horse!”
“But the theme has to do with skill,” Mr. diAngelo reminded her. “What about riding in the plane relates to that?”
“The skill of the pilot, of course,” Veronica replied.
Mrs. diAngelo smiled with pride. “I’m sure that’s an excellent idea,” she said to her husband. “You can arrange that, can’t you?”
“Well, the plane does belong to the bank,” Mr. diAngelo said.
“But Daddy,” Veronica asked, “didn’t you tell me that the pilot needs to have more flying time to maintain his qualifications? What could be better than letting him have extra time in the air while he gets to do a favor for his boss by taking his boss’s daughter up for a ride? What could be better for him than that?”
“Well, Hubert did mention something about wanting more flying hours, yes,” said Mr. diAngelo.
Mrs. diAngelo rang the bell to have the maid clear the table. Before the maid came into the dining room, Mrs. diAngelo spoke rapidly to her husband.
“Oh, darling, don’t be a stick-in-the-mud. This will be a perfect opportunity for the pilot—what’s his name? Herbert?”
“Hubert.”
“Whatever, Hubert. Veronica is right. And she’ll be able to take some photographs up there that will be far superior to whatever else gets sent into that contest. How could you deny your daughter this opportunity?”
“Well, maybe you’re right,” Mr. diAngelo said.
The kitchen door swung open and the maid came in. “Please clear the table and bring us our dessert,” saidMrs. diAngelo. “Oh, and when you go back into the kitchen, tell the cook she’s
Mr. diAngelo put down his spoon. “Yes, Veronica, you do,” he said. “In the first place, you said you’d like to have a trip to Rome—”
“But you can afford to pay for it …,” Veronica protested.
“Of course I can,” said Mr. diAngelo. “But that’s not the point. You need to learn what it’s like to earn something. I’ve given you all the help I can by buying you the camera. You have to do the rest. I’m certain you can do it, too.”
“Well, I’m sure I can,” said Veronica. “After all, all the other kids who enter the contest are just going to be sending in pictures of their pets or their parents or their baby brothers and sisters. I’m sure the store will be only too happy to see what I send them, when I figure out what would truly be different. But everything I’ve thought of so far is pretty dull or else hasn’t worked.”
The maid reappeared to remove the soup plates and then to serve the lamb chops, asparagus, and lyonnaise potatoes. None of the diAngelos spoke as dinner was served. They didn’t like to talk about personal matters in front of the servants. Veronica’s mother had explained to her at an early age that one never could tell what servants might gossip about. When the door shut silently behind the maid, the conversation picked up again.
“I mean, you talk about how difficult and boring it was for you to have to fly all the way to Richmondtoday, but that sounds much more interesting than the day I had,” said Veronica.
Mr. diAngelo took a taste of his lamb chop and made a slight face. “I told you, I like it pink, not overdone,” he said to Mrs. diAngelo.
“I told the cook that four times,” Mrs. diAngelo said. “I guess I’ll just have to fire her.”
“But Daddy,” asked Veronica, “wasn’t there anything interesting about your day?”
“Well, the clouds outside the airplane were quite lovely. The storm cloud particularly. Of course, we were miles away from it, but you can see great distances when you’re in the sky. It’s quite spectacular sometimes.”
“Wow! That’s it!” said Veronica.
“What’s it?” her mother asked.
“I should go up in the plane and take pictures from up there. It’s got to be more interesting than baby brothers and pets wearing baseball caps. It’s certainly more interesting than a rider falling off a horse!”
“But the theme has to do with skill,” Mr. diAngelo reminded her. “What about riding in the plane relates to that?”
“The skill of the pilot, of course,” Veronica replied.
Mrs. diAngelo smiled with pride. “I’m sure that’s an excellent idea,” she said to her husband. “You can arrange that, can’t you?”
“Well, the plane does belong to the bank,” Mr. diAngelo said.
“But Daddy,” Veronica asked, “didn’t you tell me that the pilot needs to have more flying time to maintain his qualifications? What could be better than letting him have extra time in the air while he gets to do a favor for his boss by taking his boss’s daughter up for a ride? What could be better for him than that?”
“Well, Hubert did mention something about wanting more flying hours, yes,” said Mr. diAngelo.
Mrs. diAngelo rang the bell to have the maid clear the table. Before the maid came into the dining room, Mrs. diAngelo spoke rapidly to her husband.
“Oh, darling, don’t be a stick-in-the-mud. This will be a perfect opportunity for the pilot—what’s his name? Herbert?”
“Hubert.”
“Whatever, Hubert. Veronica is right. And she’ll be able to take some photographs up there that will be far superior to whatever else gets sent into that contest. How could you deny your daughter this opportunity?”
“Well, maybe you’re right,” Mr. diAngelo said.
The kitchen door swung open and the maid came in. “Please clear the table and bring us our dessert,” saidMrs. diAngelo. “Oh, and when you go back into the kitchen, tell the cook she’s
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