Read Online Spiderweb for Two - A Melendy Maze by Elizabeth Enright - Free Book Online Page B

as they were riding home, “that I have just about a dollar and a half left in my bank. Maybe I’d just better give it to Cuffy as the change; you know, without saying anything.”
    â€œYes, and then she won’t have to ask questions and be worried,” said Oliver piously. “I’ll chip in fifteen cents; it’s all I’ve got.”
    When they coasted down the driveway to their house, the Four-Story Mistake, they could see the lighted windows shining. Randy sighed.
    â€œIt costs a lot to do the marketing,” she said.
    The next day she and Oliver took great satisfaction in composing and sending a letter to Mr. Frederick. It said:
    Dear Sir,
    A dollar and a half seems exsorbitent for a clock key, does it not? But accept it please, and you may keep the change.
    Yours sincerely,
    The Robbers
    A few days later Randy had a new idea about the clue. It came to her in the middle of her English History class at ten thirty in the morning, and struck her with such force that when Miss Kipkin asked her to name the originator of the Magna Carta she answered “Beethoven.”
    She advanced her theory to Oliver that afternoon on their way home.
    â€œI’m going straight up to the Office when we get back and look at the Victrola records,” she told him. “Beethoven did compose a piano concerto called the ‘Emperor,’ you know. I’ve got it all figured out. The Emperor concerto book should be on one of the shelves, and the next record under it could be ‘The Dance of the Hours’—I’m sure we’ve still got it—and the next one over it could be one of the Caruso records—he died long ago and was the best singer in the world—or maybe one of Richard Tauber’s. We’ve got all those, and I bet we’ll find the clue among them, and if we do we’ll know it’s Rush who thought it up; he’s always been the boss of the records!”
    As she said this she thought of her eldest brother, industriously printing the names of musical compositions in ink on little strips of adhesive tape and sticking them onto the backs of the record albums. He had not cut the strips long enough and could not keep his printing small enough, so that on these labels Tchaikovsky was irreverently tagged as Tchai, and Beethoven appeared as Beet. Chopin, of course, was Chop, and Debussy became Deb. The compositions and performers were similarly abbreviated with the result that every symphony was a symp. and every orchestra an orc.
    Oliver was deeply impressed with Randy’s idea, and as soon as they got home they slammed their books down on the kitchen table and pounded up the two flights of stairs to the Office. This was a beloved room, the children’s own, cluttered with all the evidence and litter of their hobbies, interests, tastes, talents, and works in progress. Rush’s care-worn upright piano stood against one wall, Mona’s masks and costumes hung on a row of pegs. Oliver’s electric train and tracks sprawled across the floor; his pistols bristled from the shelves. Randy’s paints and papers cluttered a table in one window and in another sat a row of weary dolls, all recently outgrown, of course, but never to be thrown away. Still another sill held jars of different sizes, and in these were twigs or earth each concealing a spun cocoon or buried chrysalis. These, too, were Oliver’s. Low bookshelves lined the walls, and above them, even to the ceilings, were pasted yellowing strips from ancient newspapers and journals, put there years and years ago by other children in another family.…
    â€œBeet. Quint. A,” read Randy, from the adhesive labels. “Beet. Symp. 3. Ero., Beet. Symp. 6. Pas., Schub. Trio E. Honestly, these records are in a mess. Schub shouldn’t be in with Beet like that. The Beets should be alone together. Oh, here! Oh, here it is! Beet. Emp. Conc! But—oh, no. Oh, darn. The one below’s