liked
Hairbreadth Harry
, and
Smilin' Jack
, and
Terry and the Pirates
. "And there's
Flash Gordon
, of course." Secretly I was aroused by the Witch Queen of Mongo, who wore slinky black dresses and was marvelously wicked. "And
Mickey Mouse
and the
Sky Pirates
, and
Tarzan
." Tarzan was currently disguised in a crocodile skin and battling an Egyptian pharaoh.
My dinner companion said, "I used to read
The Dream of a Welsh Rarebit Fiend
when I was your age. I suppose the comics have changed a good deal. Although
The Katzenjammer Kids
haven't. I see them every Sunday. What else do you read?"
"We -- um -- listen to the radio a lot."
"Oh, the radio." She dismissed that invention with a wave of her hand. "Have you never read
Treasure Island
?"
"No, Ma'am."
"I see. Well, books perhaps cannot do for you what a piece of music does, or a painting, or a play on the stage, but they can perform their own kind of magic."
She lit a cigarette and streamed smoke through her nostrils. "What instrument do you play?"
I confessed I went to Mr. Auerbach up at Packard Lane every Tuesday afternoon, lugging a French horn, on which I was trying to learn the polka from
Schwanda, der Dudelsackpfeifer
.
"The French horn's a noble instrument!" Lady said enthusiastically.
I thought it was lousy. Ma had been swayed when the music teacher told her the set of my teeth was perfect for a brass instrument; the truth was the French-horn player had gone on to junior high. Lucky Harry got to play comet.
"You have a musical family. We must have a musical evening one night soon."
"You mean it? I can come back? All of us can come?" I couldn't believe my ears.
"Of course, all of you," she said gaily. "Larks, my darling, we must have larks." Her smile vanished like a ghost and she looked at me with a grave expression. "It's been very nice, having you here. There have never been children in this house since I have lived in it. It's -- as it should be."
"When can we come?"
"Well, let me see. I'm alone on Thursdays and Sundays. Perhaps a Sunday would be best."
Sunday was Jack Benny, but I didn't care.
"Let me consult with Jesse and Elthea and see what would be convenient," she concluded. She rolled her napkin, placed it in a silver ring -- monogrammed: curly, curvy "A.H." -- and rose from her chair. "Will you help me bring out the dishes? I don't want to leave them for Elthea." As we carried things back to the kitchen, she asked, "Do you know who Miss Shedd is?"
"No, Ma'am."
"She's our librarian. A remarkable old lady who loves children to come and take books out and read them. We must arrange for you to meet her one of these days."
She was at the dishpan, I was drying, when the doorbell rang.
"Darn, who can that be out in all this snow?" She took her hands from the water and flicked the suds.
"I can go."
"If it's Colonel Blatchley, invite him in and offer him a cigar."
I walked down the hall and peeked through the curtain of the window next to the door. Waiting on Mrs. Harleigh's stoop was a dark figure. The coat collar was turned up around the face, but I could tell it was not Colonel Blatchley. Nor was it anyone else I had ever seen before. Somehow I had the feeling I didn't like his looks. I put my hand on the brass handle and opened the door.
"Is Mrs. Harleigh at home?"
The voice was hoarse, and its owner seemed to be making an effort to keep it at a whisper.
"Yes. Do you want to come in?"
For a moment he looked uncertain. His mouth was clamped in a grim line, and his unblinking watery eyes shone in the gleam of the carriage lamp. His pale skin was splotched with pinkish freckles and his reddish, slightly curly hair was slicked back, wet with snow. He carried a leather briefcase, on whose battered flap was stamped the name "OTT." I immediately thought of Mel Ott, right-fielder for the Giants, whose picture Lew had in his bubble-gum card collection.
When I glanced at the flakes flying past me into the hall, the man finally spoke. "Tell Mrs.
Hairbreadth Harry
, and
Smilin' Jack
, and
Terry and the Pirates
. "And there's
Flash Gordon
, of course." Secretly I was aroused by the Witch Queen of Mongo, who wore slinky black dresses and was marvelously wicked. "And
Mickey Mouse
and the
Sky Pirates
, and
Tarzan
." Tarzan was currently disguised in a crocodile skin and battling an Egyptian pharaoh.
My dinner companion said, "I used to read
The Dream of a Welsh Rarebit Fiend
when I was your age. I suppose the comics have changed a good deal. Although
The Katzenjammer Kids
haven't. I see them every Sunday. What else do you read?"
"We -- um -- listen to the radio a lot."
"Oh, the radio." She dismissed that invention with a wave of her hand. "Have you never read
Treasure Island
?"
"No, Ma'am."
"I see. Well, books perhaps cannot do for you what a piece of music does, or a painting, or a play on the stage, but they can perform their own kind of magic."
She lit a cigarette and streamed smoke through her nostrils. "What instrument do you play?"
I confessed I went to Mr. Auerbach up at Packard Lane every Tuesday afternoon, lugging a French horn, on which I was trying to learn the polka from
Schwanda, der Dudelsackpfeifer
.
"The French horn's a noble instrument!" Lady said enthusiastically.
I thought it was lousy. Ma had been swayed when the music teacher told her the set of my teeth was perfect for a brass instrument; the truth was the French-horn player had gone on to junior high. Lucky Harry got to play comet.
"You have a musical family. We must have a musical evening one night soon."
"You mean it? I can come back? All of us can come?" I couldn't believe my ears.
"Of course, all of you," she said gaily. "Larks, my darling, we must have larks." Her smile vanished like a ghost and she looked at me with a grave expression. "It's been very nice, having you here. There have never been children in this house since I have lived in it. It's -- as it should be."
"When can we come?"
"Well, let me see. I'm alone on Thursdays and Sundays. Perhaps a Sunday would be best."
Sunday was Jack Benny, but I didn't care.
"Let me consult with Jesse and Elthea and see what would be convenient," she concluded. She rolled her napkin, placed it in a silver ring -- monogrammed: curly, curvy "A.H." -- and rose from her chair. "Will you help me bring out the dishes? I don't want to leave them for Elthea." As we carried things back to the kitchen, she asked, "Do you know who Miss Shedd is?"
"No, Ma'am."
"She's our librarian. A remarkable old lady who loves children to come and take books out and read them. We must arrange for you to meet her one of these days."
She was at the dishpan, I was drying, when the doorbell rang.
"Darn, who can that be out in all this snow?" She took her hands from the water and flicked the suds.
"I can go."
"If it's Colonel Blatchley, invite him in and offer him a cigar."
I walked down the hall and peeked through the curtain of the window next to the door. Waiting on Mrs. Harleigh's stoop was a dark figure. The coat collar was turned up around the face, but I could tell it was not Colonel Blatchley. Nor was it anyone else I had ever seen before. Somehow I had the feeling I didn't like his looks. I put my hand on the brass handle and opened the door.
"Is Mrs. Harleigh at home?"
The voice was hoarse, and its owner seemed to be making an effort to keep it at a whisper.
"Yes. Do you want to come in?"
For a moment he looked uncertain. His mouth was clamped in a grim line, and his unblinking watery eyes shone in the gleam of the carriage lamp. His pale skin was splotched with pinkish freckles and his reddish, slightly curly hair was slicked back, wet with snow. He carried a leather briefcase, on whose battered flap was stamped the name "OTT." I immediately thought of Mel Ott, right-fielder for the Giants, whose picture Lew had in his bubble-gum card collection.
When I glanced at the flakes flying past me into the hall, the man finally spoke. "Tell Mrs.
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