A Girl Called Al: The Al Series, Book One by Constance C. Greene Page B

box.”
    â€œHm,” Mr. Keogh said, “we must share the same mailman.”

Chapter Nineteen
    By the time we got out of school the snow had stopped.
    My father was right.
    â€œI wonder if Mr. Richards will have to shovel any of this,” Al said. “I should think those lazy old tenants could do a little work themselves. Mr. Richards is much too fine a man to be at their beck and call. You know something?”
    Al stuck her hands on her hips and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.
    â€œNo. What?” I said.
    â€œMr. Richards is a prince. He is the nicest man I know. Outside of Mr. Keogh.”
    â€œHow about my father?” I asked. “I thought you liked my father a lot.”
    Al got red. “Yes,” she said, “I do. He is great. And for that matter, how about my father?” She sounded like Teddy does when he is looking for a fight, which is a lot of the time.
    â€œI don’t know your father,” I said. “But from his picture I would say he would be nice, very nice. I like his eyebrows.”
    Al turned and started walking again. “Don’t forget,” she said, “Just don’t forget that Mr. Keogh and your father have perfectly good wives and families.”
    I nodded. “That is true.” Mr. Keogh’s wife has a little baby boy. I have seen pictures of him and if he had a bow tie on he’d look just like Mr. Keogh.
    Al walked very fast. I had a hard time keeping up.
    â€œMr. Richards has no one. He is all alone. That is very important.”
    By this time we were practically running.
    â€œHe doesn’t seem to mind,” I said finally, when I could get my breath. “He never seems to be lonely.”
    Sometimes I think that Al does not remember that I have known Mr. Richards a lot longer than she has. I have never said this to her but I think it. She acts kind of uppity about Mr. Richards sometimes, like she discovered him or something.
    â€œThat’s all you know.” Al narrowed her eyes so they were little slits, like Mr. Richards’s. “That’s all you know.”
    When we got out at our floor I asked Al if she wanted to come in for a snack. Practically every day we go to my house for a snack on account of Al’s mother doesn’t believe in snacks.
    â€œNo,” she said. “Thanks, but I am cutting down on snacks. That and I want to see if there’s a letter or anything from my father. I am sort of expecting to hear from him today.”
    â€œDid you check the mail?” I asked.
    â€œI forgot,” Al said. “I will drop off my books and go back and check.”
    â€œO.K.” I said. “I think my mother made brownies, if you change your mind.” I could smell them. As a matter of fact, I could almost see the smell coming out from under the door. The way it does in the funny papers. Big waves of smell. It is a nice thing to come home to.
    â€œHow was your day?” my mother asked. One thing about my mother, she is usually glad to see me. Not always, but usually.
    â€œPretty good,” I said. “Can I have a brownie?”
    â€œOne,” she said. “Did I hear you talking to Al?”
    â€œShe went back to check the mail. She expects to hear from her father today. He is coming to see her soon.”
    â€œThat’s nice,” she said.
    I heard the elevator stop and I went to the door.
    â€œDid you get a letter?” I asked.
    â€œNo,” she said.
    â€œMaybe that means he is on a plane right now and will just call you up,” I said. “He’s probably just about over our heads right now,” I said, and sure enough, we could hear an airplane going over very low, getting ready to land. We live pretty near the airport and get so used to the noise we don’t even think about it.
    â€œMaybe,” she said.
    â€œHow about a brownie?” I asked. “My mother just made them.”
    â€œNo offense,” Al said,