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Wolfe; Gene - Prose & Criticism
wield."
"I deeply and humbly apologize." I know I must have sounded contrite, George, because I felt contrite. "If there's some way I can make it up to you, I'll certainly do it. On one point I must correct you, however. This isn't your father's house. It's mine."
Winkle ran to the window, jumped up onto the sill, and barked.
"I think someone's coming." Emlyn went to the window and looked out.
I followed him. "That was the postman, I believe. The flag's down."
He looked at me quizzically.
"The flag on my mailbox," I explained. "Last night I wrote a letter to my dear brother George. He never writes to me, but I hope to soften his stance eventually."
Emlyn nodded. "Do you have a courier or a page to run with your letters?"
"The postman takes them. That's what I'm trying to make clear. When I'd finished my letter and stamped it, I put it in my box and raised the flag. The flag tells the postman to stop even if he hasn't any mail for me. When he's picked up my letter--or she has, postmen are often women--he puts the flag down."
"I don't see the flag. Can you show it to me? I think I've finished reviling you, for the present at least."
We went out to the box, and I showed him the little metal flag, raising and lowering it. Several cars passed, and I have wondered since what they thought of the three of us gathered around my rusty mailbox in the bright summer sunshine--of Emlyn in his knee breeches and wide-sleeved shirt, and Winkle, an animal of flame, ice, and night.
There was mail, including--oh, wonder of wonders--my allowance. I opened it when we had returned to the house, and explained what a check was to Emlyn.
"There! It's money, you say?"
"It certainly is, and very welcome money, too."
"Then we must snuff the longlight." He held it up. "Moisten your fingers and pinch the wick. That's the best way."
I did.
"Now the operation is over." Emlyn smiled. "If you had put out the flame too soon, the numen would have been directionless and unfulfilled. That's what happened to me when I dropped the longlight and the flame went out, and it's what happened to you when you let someone put the flame out before you got your fish. I ought to warn you that fish may keep coming until you get three of them. That could easily happen."
Here, I felt, was confusion that should be dealt with. "I got three that night," I explained. "The neighbor who gave me fish actually gave me three of them."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, three fish. I recall that distinctly. Each was about so big." I indicated their length with my hands.
"Did they differ in some other way? In any way at all? That may be important."
"They were of three different kinds, I believe. One was a catfish. I believe both the others were bass, but--but . . ."
"Yes?"
"Different kinds of bass, perhaps. I don't know much about bass, but they didn't look quite the same."
"This could be bad." Sighing, Emlyn resumed his seat on the floor.
"Do you mean that the numen might continue to get fish for me?"
"Exactly. It may get you three fish three times, for example. What's the matter, Bax?"
"I think perhaps it already has. I lunched on fish chowder. First, I mean. Before the entree I had a cup of fish chowder. They might easily have chopped up three fish to make a big kettle of fish chowder. Wouldn't you think so?"
Emlyn nodded.
"Then for my lunch, I had three sorts of fish. There was blackfish, which I'd never eaten before. It was quite good. The others were . . ." I stopped to think.
"Were they two different kinds?"
"Yes, I'm certain they were. One was pike, I'm sure. The other was quite dry and served with black butter."
"That may have done it. Three wheels, you see. Three pictures of fish. So three fish for the three pictures, and three occasions for the three wheels. If that's it--I'm not saying it is--you may be free of the entanglement. We can hope you are, at least."
"But what about you?"
Emlyn nodded. "I was about to get to that. Do you remember what I told you about
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