position of manager. Now suddenly everything seemed to have gone out of her control.
“Tim and I are earning the money to run this place,” Bruce said. “It’s up to us to decide what we’re going to do with it.”
The two boys were working every afternoon and on Saturdays, raking yards around the neighborhood. Out of their earnings they had purchased a whole case of dog food and a brush and comb for Red and some salve for the injured area around his neck. They were setting the rest of the money aside in a special fund to be used to purchase Red Rover.
“You might spend some of it on Friday,” Andi said irritably. “There are so many things she needs — her own brush, for instance, and a collar and rubber bones and things for the puppies.”
“Friday ought to feel lucky just to be getting some of Red’s food,” Bruce said. “Remember, you’ve still got to pay Aunt Alice for the material you took. You haven’t put aside any money for that, not even your allowance.”
“I couldn’t,” Andi said, bristling. “I borrowedagainst it last month to buy postage stamps, and then there was a movie — no, two movies — that I
had
to see. And Mom caught me when I was returning Aunt Alice’s shampoo, and the tube was almost empty, so she made me replace it —”
“That’s okay,” Tim said soothingly. “Girls don’t know anything about earning money. My sisters never earned a dime in their lives.”
The superior tone of his voice infuriated Andi even more than Bruce’s statements, and the worst of it was that she couldn’t think of a way to respond. It was true that she had never earned money, and with her mother irritated at her and Aunt Alice no longer so certain that she was a “dear, helpful little girl,” it didn’t look as though she was going to be offered many opportunities to do so.
“I’m reaching the end of my patience,” Mrs. Walker had told her in the firmest voice Andi had ever heard her mother use. “Back in Albuquerque we lived in a very casual way, but here we are living in somebody else’s home. It’s hard when there are so many people in a small house, and you have to do your share.”
“Aunt Alice is a picky old maid,” Andi said irritably. “All she thinks about is dust, dust, dust.She’s boring and gushy, and I wish we were living in a tent.”
“She is not an old maid,” Mrs. Walker said. “She was married many happy years to your father’s uncle Peter. If she seems ‘gushy’ to you, it’s because she isn’t used to children. She never had any of her own, and she doesn’t know how to talk to them.”
“What’s so hard about talking to children?” Andi demanded. “Children are human beings.”
“So are grown-ups,” her mother said quietly. “If you were to open that stubborn mind of yours a little, you might let yourself discover it. Very few people are boring when you really get to know them.”
Andi started to fire back an answer and then, seeing the stressed-out expression on her mother’s face, decided against it. Mrs. Walker was no longer nearing the end of her patience — she had already reached it.
Aside from the fact that she was at odds with almost everyone in her family, Andi had another reason for being cross and irritable. Her poem had come back from
Ladies’ Home Journal.
She had been very hopeful about that poem. It had been called “Death Owns a Ship” and was the most dramaticthing she had ever written, and the magazine had kept it for three whole weeks.
Toward the end of that time she had become quite certain that they had decided to buy it and were trying to make up their minds about how much to pay her. Every day she had rushed home from school to see if her check had arrived. At night, when she lay in bed at the edge of sleep, she had visualized herself strolling along the sidewalk past the yards where Bruce and Tim were slaving away with their rakes, with Friday and the puppies marching proudly ahead of her, each with a
“Tim and I are earning the money to run this place,” Bruce said. “It’s up to us to decide what we’re going to do with it.”
The two boys were working every afternoon and on Saturdays, raking yards around the neighborhood. Out of their earnings they had purchased a whole case of dog food and a brush and comb for Red and some salve for the injured area around his neck. They were setting the rest of the money aside in a special fund to be used to purchase Red Rover.
“You might spend some of it on Friday,” Andi said irritably. “There are so many things she needs — her own brush, for instance, and a collar and rubber bones and things for the puppies.”
“Friday ought to feel lucky just to be getting some of Red’s food,” Bruce said. “Remember, you’ve still got to pay Aunt Alice for the material you took. You haven’t put aside any money for that, not even your allowance.”
“I couldn’t,” Andi said, bristling. “I borrowedagainst it last month to buy postage stamps, and then there was a movie — no, two movies — that I
had
to see. And Mom caught me when I was returning Aunt Alice’s shampoo, and the tube was almost empty, so she made me replace it —”
“That’s okay,” Tim said soothingly. “Girls don’t know anything about earning money. My sisters never earned a dime in their lives.”
The superior tone of his voice infuriated Andi even more than Bruce’s statements, and the worst of it was that she couldn’t think of a way to respond. It was true that she had never earned money, and with her mother irritated at her and Aunt Alice no longer so certain that she was a “dear, helpful little girl,” it didn’t look as though she was going to be offered many opportunities to do so.
“I’m reaching the end of my patience,” Mrs. Walker had told her in the firmest voice Andi had ever heard her mother use. “Back in Albuquerque we lived in a very casual way, but here we are living in somebody else’s home. It’s hard when there are so many people in a small house, and you have to do your share.”
“Aunt Alice is a picky old maid,” Andi said irritably. “All she thinks about is dust, dust, dust.She’s boring and gushy, and I wish we were living in a tent.”
“She is not an old maid,” Mrs. Walker said. “She was married many happy years to your father’s uncle Peter. If she seems ‘gushy’ to you, it’s because she isn’t used to children. She never had any of her own, and she doesn’t know how to talk to them.”
“What’s so hard about talking to children?” Andi demanded. “Children are human beings.”
“So are grown-ups,” her mother said quietly. “If you were to open that stubborn mind of yours a little, you might let yourself discover it. Very few people are boring when you really get to know them.”
Andi started to fire back an answer and then, seeing the stressed-out expression on her mother’s face, decided against it. Mrs. Walker was no longer nearing the end of her patience — she had already reached it.
Aside from the fact that she was at odds with almost everyone in her family, Andi had another reason for being cross and irritable. Her poem had come back from
Ladies’ Home Journal.
She had been very hopeful about that poem. It had been called “Death Owns a Ship” and was the most dramaticthing she had ever written, and the magazine had kept it for three whole weeks.
Toward the end of that time she had become quite certain that they had decided to buy it and were trying to make up their minds about how much to pay her. Every day she had rushed home from school to see if her check had arrived. At night, when she lay in bed at the edge of sleep, she had visualized herself strolling along the sidewalk past the yards where Bruce and Tim were slaving away with their rakes, with Friday and the puppies marching proudly ahead of her, each with a
Similar Books
