letter to do: just pass the time of day or what?”
“I don’t know,” said Tony.
Jack changed the subject. “Is that right about those Bullards blaming all of us?”
“Yeah.”
“What are they going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Tony said. “But we’re not supposed to go over to Millville, I know that.”
“That’s crazy. I mean, I can’t go over to the bike shop to get an inner tube?”
“Not according to this theory of theirs.”
“How could they get away with that?” asked Jack. “Set up guard posts at every entrance to the town?”
“I don’t know,” said Tony.
Jack asked, with reference to his family, “Do the rest of them know about this ban on us going to Millville? Because how’s Dad going to get to work?”
Tony said, “God, I never thought of that.”
“I’d better tell him.” He left the room and went downstairs, skipping every second step, which was not really much faster but simply his current style of descent.
Wanting to avoid the womenfolk when on such a mission, he went out the rarely used front door and around to the garage, where his father could usually be found when not inside. The garage was empty now, but its doors were closed. If they were left open, birds flew in and might be hard to get out when the car came back, and would crap on it.
Just as Jack was ready to go back to the house, along came the little dog Mopsy, who was once again taking a breather from its mistress. He had just bent over to pat its wagging behind when the familiar blue sedan, its windshield badly yellowed, came rolling up the alley. Mopsy being the kind of sappy pooch that might well run barking into the roadway and get flattened, Jack swatted the animal’s hairy butt, and it skittered into the yard.
Jack’s father pulled up on the little apron between garage and alley: this was surfaced with coal ashes. Whenever Jack heard the crunching sound, he was unpleasantly reminded of how cruel a terrain this was to bare feet. He took the stick out of the hasp and opened the garage doors, and was just barely able to clear the right side past the nearer fender.
But his father climbed ponderously from the car: apparently he wasn’t ready to garage it.
“Say, Dad,” Jack said, “there’s this thing—”
“Don’t bother me now, Jack,” his father said brusquely, passing him without a glance.
Jack pursued him. “This is real important, Dad.”
His father stopped and turned. “God damn you, not now!” He plodded toward the house.
Jack obeyed to the degree that he did not at once try again to get his news across, but he did follow his father into the kitchen.
“Hiya, Papa,” said Bernice, from her place at the table.
Jack’s mother got up. “I’ll give you some coffee, Dolf, and a piece uh pie.”
“Naw, I ain’t hungry,” said he. “Hi, Bernice. I’m glad you came.” He went to the table, but not to the head, instead taking what was usually Tony’s seat, across from Jack’s, where Bernice was sitting now.
When he had got himself seated he noticed that Jack was still in attendance. “Hey, you,” he said threateningly. “I thought I told you to leave me alone.”
Bernice said, “Aw, Papa, take it easy on the kid.” She winked at Jack. “He ain’t all bad.” She always stuck up for him.
His father stared at Jack for a while, and then he said, “Is your brother to home?”
“He’s upstairs.”
“Go get him.”
Jack went to the front of the house and shouted up the stairs, and in a few moments Tony joined the rest of the family at the kitchen table.
Jack’s father said to Tony, “While you was at the movies we got a phone call here from somebody who wouldn’t give their name.”
Bernice asked, “Who was that?”
“I don’t know. It sounded like a fake voice of some kind, talking through a rag or something. But what he said was he knew I burnt down Bullard’s hardware last night.”
Jack was tempted to look for Tony’s reaction, but he restrained
“I don’t know,” said Tony.
Jack changed the subject. “Is that right about those Bullards blaming all of us?”
“Yeah.”
“What are they going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Tony said. “But we’re not supposed to go over to Millville, I know that.”
“That’s crazy. I mean, I can’t go over to the bike shop to get an inner tube?”
“Not according to this theory of theirs.”
“How could they get away with that?” asked Jack. “Set up guard posts at every entrance to the town?”
“I don’t know,” said Tony.
Jack asked, with reference to his family, “Do the rest of them know about this ban on us going to Millville? Because how’s Dad going to get to work?”
Tony said, “God, I never thought of that.”
“I’d better tell him.” He left the room and went downstairs, skipping every second step, which was not really much faster but simply his current style of descent.
Wanting to avoid the womenfolk when on such a mission, he went out the rarely used front door and around to the garage, where his father could usually be found when not inside. The garage was empty now, but its doors were closed. If they were left open, birds flew in and might be hard to get out when the car came back, and would crap on it.
Just as Jack was ready to go back to the house, along came the little dog Mopsy, who was once again taking a breather from its mistress. He had just bent over to pat its wagging behind when the familiar blue sedan, its windshield badly yellowed, came rolling up the alley. Mopsy being the kind of sappy pooch that might well run barking into the roadway and get flattened, Jack swatted the animal’s hairy butt, and it skittered into the yard.
Jack’s father pulled up on the little apron between garage and alley: this was surfaced with coal ashes. Whenever Jack heard the crunching sound, he was unpleasantly reminded of how cruel a terrain this was to bare feet. He took the stick out of the hasp and opened the garage doors, and was just barely able to clear the right side past the nearer fender.
But his father climbed ponderously from the car: apparently he wasn’t ready to garage it.
“Say, Dad,” Jack said, “there’s this thing—”
“Don’t bother me now, Jack,” his father said brusquely, passing him without a glance.
Jack pursued him. “This is real important, Dad.”
His father stopped and turned. “God damn you, not now!” He plodded toward the house.
Jack obeyed to the degree that he did not at once try again to get his news across, but he did follow his father into the kitchen.
“Hiya, Papa,” said Bernice, from her place at the table.
Jack’s mother got up. “I’ll give you some coffee, Dolf, and a piece uh pie.”
“Naw, I ain’t hungry,” said he. “Hi, Bernice. I’m glad you came.” He went to the table, but not to the head, instead taking what was usually Tony’s seat, across from Jack’s, where Bernice was sitting now.
When he had got himself seated he noticed that Jack was still in attendance. “Hey, you,” he said threateningly. “I thought I told you to leave me alone.”
Bernice said, “Aw, Papa, take it easy on the kid.” She winked at Jack. “He ain’t all bad.” She always stuck up for him.
His father stared at Jack for a while, and then he said, “Is your brother to home?”
“He’s upstairs.”
“Go get him.”
Jack went to the front of the house and shouted up the stairs, and in a few moments Tony joined the rest of the family at the kitchen table.
Jack’s father said to Tony, “While you was at the movies we got a phone call here from somebody who wouldn’t give their name.”
Bernice asked, “Who was that?”
“I don’t know. It sounded like a fake voice of some kind, talking through a rag or something. But what he said was he knew I burnt down Bullard’s hardware last night.”
Jack was tempted to look for Tony’s reaction, but he restrained
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