Lisa wasn’t sure, but it seemed that her eyes were slightly crossed. That might have come from trying to watch all sections of a glee club at once. She read novels, too. Lisa could tell by the way her limp fingers trembled when they touched hands.
“Miss Bancroft—Professor Dawes.”
The professor’s eyes smiled back at Lisa. He wasn’t timid this morning. He wasn’t intruding on a lady at tea.
“We’ve met, too,” he said, “but it’s a pleasure to meet again, and so soon.”
“I was invited,” Lisa observed.
“By our distinguished chairman, of course.”
“Of course.”
Now the professor’s eyes twinkled. It was a private joke. Plant the seed of curiosity and ‘most anything can happen—even a new member of the award committee.
“And we mustn’t forget Dr. Hazlitt.”
Lisa had forgotten. The name had scant remembrance—Tod had barely mentioned it that day at the house. She turned to acknowledge the introduction, still smiling from the private joke, but now the smile seemed out of place. Dr. Hazlitt. The face was old and weary, so weary that it seemed he must surely have been up all night with an ailing patient. His shoulders drooped, his graying head thrust forward as if the weight of it was too great for his neck to bear, and the fingers of one blue-veined hand picked nervously at the watch chain across his vest. The Dr. Hazlitts of the world always wore vests, but they didn’t always look so vague.
“Bancroft?” his tired voice echoed. “The name sounds familiar. Didn’t you once have people in Bellville, Miss Bancroft?”
There was laughter, naturally, but the laughter only seemed to puzzle the doctor more.
“You’ll have to excuse Reid,” Tod remarked. “He’s probably unaware of any new fiction since
Moby Dick
. But I’m sure none of us have come here for any personal aggrandizement. This festival is serious business. It’s serious to Bellville, and to the world of music …”
Tod was making a speech. He hadn’t prepared one, of course; he was just making it because making speeches came natural to him. Lisa tried to follow what he was saying, but there were more interesting things to do. A table full of people to be appraised and catalogued. A dowager queen to be watched. An aging physician whose fingers were still working at that watch chain. Fingering time, doctor? Another appointment on your mind, or merely clinging to something you no longer want but have possessed so long you’re reluctant to let go? And all the time the gnawing remembrance of why she had come to this house, of whose name was on that card on the mantel.
“… and so, with the expenditure of just a few thousand dollars, we can seat half again as many people at the athletic field and make this year’s festival the greatest in the history of the Cornish Award!”
Tod drove home a point with vigor. It was impossible for the mind to escape.
“A
few
thousand?” Stanley Watts protested. “Just how many constitute a
few
thousand, Mr. Chairman?”
“There’s a young man outside who can give us the complete story,” Tod replied.
“Well, I’m against it! What if it rains? What if we go to all this extra expense and have to hold the affair in the auditorium after all?”
The banker looked about the table for reassurance. It seemed to Lisa that he had a point, but Tod didn’t allow time for a response.
“Rain the entire week, Stanley?” he asked. “You must be expecting a deluge.”
Miss Pratt tittered; Miss Oberon almost smiled. Tod really didn’t need the encouragement.
“And we have to take chances, Stanley. Think of the
sunny
side. What if it
doesn’t
rain? Accommodations for an extra five thousand spectators will return our investment ten times over, not to mention what it will do for local business. And we’ll have those extras, too. We turned them away last year. What I’m saying is reasonable, isn’t it, Mrs. Cornish? You can see my point, can’t you?”
Handling Nydia.
“Miss Bancroft—Professor Dawes.”
The professor’s eyes smiled back at Lisa. He wasn’t timid this morning. He wasn’t intruding on a lady at tea.
“We’ve met, too,” he said, “but it’s a pleasure to meet again, and so soon.”
“I was invited,” Lisa observed.
“By our distinguished chairman, of course.”
“Of course.”
Now the professor’s eyes twinkled. It was a private joke. Plant the seed of curiosity and ‘most anything can happen—even a new member of the award committee.
“And we mustn’t forget Dr. Hazlitt.”
Lisa had forgotten. The name had scant remembrance—Tod had barely mentioned it that day at the house. She turned to acknowledge the introduction, still smiling from the private joke, but now the smile seemed out of place. Dr. Hazlitt. The face was old and weary, so weary that it seemed he must surely have been up all night with an ailing patient. His shoulders drooped, his graying head thrust forward as if the weight of it was too great for his neck to bear, and the fingers of one blue-veined hand picked nervously at the watch chain across his vest. The Dr. Hazlitts of the world always wore vests, but they didn’t always look so vague.
“Bancroft?” his tired voice echoed. “The name sounds familiar. Didn’t you once have people in Bellville, Miss Bancroft?”
There was laughter, naturally, but the laughter only seemed to puzzle the doctor more.
“You’ll have to excuse Reid,” Tod remarked. “He’s probably unaware of any new fiction since
Moby Dick
. But I’m sure none of us have come here for any personal aggrandizement. This festival is serious business. It’s serious to Bellville, and to the world of music …”
Tod was making a speech. He hadn’t prepared one, of course; he was just making it because making speeches came natural to him. Lisa tried to follow what he was saying, but there were more interesting things to do. A table full of people to be appraised and catalogued. A dowager queen to be watched. An aging physician whose fingers were still working at that watch chain. Fingering time, doctor? Another appointment on your mind, or merely clinging to something you no longer want but have possessed so long you’re reluctant to let go? And all the time the gnawing remembrance of why she had come to this house, of whose name was on that card on the mantel.
“… and so, with the expenditure of just a few thousand dollars, we can seat half again as many people at the athletic field and make this year’s festival the greatest in the history of the Cornish Award!”
Tod drove home a point with vigor. It was impossible for the mind to escape.
“A
few
thousand?” Stanley Watts protested. “Just how many constitute a
few
thousand, Mr. Chairman?”
“There’s a young man outside who can give us the complete story,” Tod replied.
“Well, I’m against it! What if it rains? What if we go to all this extra expense and have to hold the affair in the auditorium after all?”
The banker looked about the table for reassurance. It seemed to Lisa that he had a point, but Tod didn’t allow time for a response.
“Rain the entire week, Stanley?” he asked. “You must be expecting a deluge.”
Miss Pratt tittered; Miss Oberon almost smiled. Tod really didn’t need the encouragement.
“And we have to take chances, Stanley. Think of the
sunny
side. What if it
doesn’t
rain? Accommodations for an extra five thousand spectators will return our investment ten times over, not to mention what it will do for local business. And we’ll have those extras, too. We turned them away last year. What I’m saying is reasonable, isn’t it, Mrs. Cornish? You can see my point, can’t you?”
Handling Nydia.
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