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Authors: Edward Streeter
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palms and orchestras and everything it takes to win a wedding.”
He sat in the big wing chair, shoulders slumped, staring unseeingly at the rows of books on either side of the fireplace.
“I do wish,” said Mrs. Banks, “that you could arrange to meet me in town someday soon, Stanley. We’ve just got to get together with Kay and pick out the flat silver if we want to get it marked in time.”
Mr. Banks regarded her with dull eyes. “The what?”
“Kay’s flat silver. Her table silver. You know perfectly well that we give Kay her flat silver and her linen.”
“Her linen?” repeated Mr. Banks. His voice sounded as if he had been drugged.
“Yes, dear. Of course. Her sheets and towels and napkins and all that sort of thing.”
“My God!” It wasn’t an oath. It was a prayer. “Doesn’t Buckley’s family give anything but Buckley?”
“For an intelligent man, Stanley, you are very stupid,” said Mrs. Banks.
Tommy and Ben came in. Perhaps it was just as well to let the matter drop. He looked at them closely for the first time in weeks—Ben, six feet of good looks—Tommy, a bean pole which seemed to add an inch a week. They were no longer boys but men—men ready to rear families of their own.
A warm comforting thought burst upon him and filled him with sudden peace. Soon they, also, would be getting married. Then it would be his turn to hand them over to some bride’s father as his contribution—his sole contribution.
• • •
The only ones who seemed thoroughly immune to the situation were Kay and Buckley. As it grew more complex they grew more serene, until they seemed to Mr. Banks to be floating away like disembodied spirits, leaving the entire mess in his lap. It was a kind of spiritual sit-down strike.
“Look here,” he announced sternly, “there are a lot of details we’ve got to talk over and I never can get you two kids together. Now I want a few minutes of your undivided attention.”
But before the words were out of his mouth Kay and Buckley had drifted back into an interminable half-whispered conversation. Judging by the almost continuous giggling which rippled through it, each appeared to regard the other as a combination of Joe E. Brown and Jack Benny. Mr. Banks hated whispered conversations and detested giggling. There were moments when it seemed to him that Buckley had the most vapid expression he had ever seen on a young man’s face.
“Silly ass,” he muttered under his breath—and then aloud to nobody in particular, “I’m damned if I can run this circus single-handed and try to run my business too.”
“You run it single-handed!” said Mrs. Banks indignantly. “All you have to do is to hand everything over to Miss Bellamy. I wish you’d stay around here all day. You might find out what’s going on.”
Basically it should have been so simple. Boy and girl meet, fall in love, marry, have babies—who eventually grow up, meet other babies, fall in love, marry. Looked at from this angle, it was not only simple, it was positively monotonous. Why then must Kay’s wedding assume the organizational complexity of a major political campaign?
Then Kay would embrace him dramatically.
Take the question of bridesmaids, for example. Kay, who had almost become a professional bridesmaid during the last five years, was now repaying her obligations with a reckless disregard for numbers.
“It’s going to look more like a daisy-chain parade than a wedding,” grumbled Mr. Banks as the list grew.
Fortunately, a large number were obliged to decline on the grounds of pregnancy. This reduced the length of the procession, but it did not simplify the dress problem. These must be the most beautiful bridesmaids’ dresses ever worn outside of a technical color film. They must look as if they had been snatched from Bergdorf Goodman’s window, but under no circumstances must they cost a penny more than $24.50.
“They should suggest the spirit of spring,” said Mrs. Banks
He sat in the big wing chair, shoulders slumped, staring unseeingly at the rows of books on either side of the fireplace.
“I do wish,” said Mrs. Banks, “that you could arrange to meet me in town someday soon, Stanley. We’ve just got to get together with Kay and pick out the flat silver if we want to get it marked in time.”
Mr. Banks regarded her with dull eyes. “The what?”
“Kay’s flat silver. Her table silver. You know perfectly well that we give Kay her flat silver and her linen.”
“Her linen?” repeated Mr. Banks. His voice sounded as if he had been drugged.
“Yes, dear. Of course. Her sheets and towels and napkins and all that sort of thing.”
“My God!” It wasn’t an oath. It was a prayer. “Doesn’t Buckley’s family give anything but Buckley?”
“For an intelligent man, Stanley, you are very stupid,” said Mrs. Banks.
Tommy and Ben came in. Perhaps it was just as well to let the matter drop. He looked at them closely for the first time in weeks—Ben, six feet of good looks—Tommy, a bean pole which seemed to add an inch a week. They were no longer boys but men—men ready to rear families of their own.
A warm comforting thought burst upon him and filled him with sudden peace. Soon they, also, would be getting married. Then it would be his turn to hand them over to some bride’s father as his contribution—his sole contribution.
• • •
The only ones who seemed thoroughly immune to the situation were Kay and Buckley. As it grew more complex they grew more serene, until they seemed to Mr. Banks to be floating away like disembodied spirits, leaving the entire mess in his lap. It was a kind of spiritual sit-down strike.
“Look here,” he announced sternly, “there are a lot of details we’ve got to talk over and I never can get you two kids together. Now I want a few minutes of your undivided attention.”
But before the words were out of his mouth Kay and Buckley had drifted back into an interminable half-whispered conversation. Judging by the almost continuous giggling which rippled through it, each appeared to regard the other as a combination of Joe E. Brown and Jack Benny. Mr. Banks hated whispered conversations and detested giggling. There were moments when it seemed to him that Buckley had the most vapid expression he had ever seen on a young man’s face.
“Silly ass,” he muttered under his breath—and then aloud to nobody in particular, “I’m damned if I can run this circus single-handed and try to run my business too.”
“You run it single-handed!” said Mrs. Banks indignantly. “All you have to do is to hand everything over to Miss Bellamy. I wish you’d stay around here all day. You might find out what’s going on.”
Basically it should have been so simple. Boy and girl meet, fall in love, marry, have babies—who eventually grow up, meet other babies, fall in love, marry. Looked at from this angle, it was not only simple, it was positively monotonous. Why then must Kay’s wedding assume the organizational complexity of a major political campaign?
Then Kay would embrace him dramatically.
Take the question of bridesmaids, for example. Kay, who had almost become a professional bridesmaid during the last five years, was now repaying her obligations with a reckless disregard for numbers.
“It’s going to look more like a daisy-chain parade than a wedding,” grumbled Mr. Banks as the list grew.
Fortunately, a large number were obliged to decline on the grounds of pregnancy. This reduced the length of the procession, but it did not simplify the dress problem. These must be the most beautiful bridesmaids’ dresses ever worn outside of a technical color film. They must look as if they had been snatched from Bergdorf Goodman’s window, but under no circumstances must they cost a penny more than $24.50.
“They should suggest the spirit of spring,” said Mrs. Banks
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