Question number nine.
“Yes,
of course,” said Diane, “I’d like that very much.” “Goodbye,” said Nat looking
at answer number ten. During the rest of the evening, Nat tried to recall the
conversation in detail, and even wrote it down line by line. He underlined
three times her words- yes, of course, I’d like that
very much. As there were still four days before he was due to visit Tom, he
wondered if he should call Diane again-just to confirm. He returned to Teen
magazine to seek their advice, as they seemed to have anticipated all his
previous problems.
Teen
gave no help on calling a second time, but did suggest for a first date he
should dress casually, be relaxed, and whenever he got the chance, talk about
other girls he’d been out with. He’d never been out with another girl, and
worse, he didn’t have any casual clothes, other than a plaid shirt that he had
hidden in a bottom drawer half an hour after he’d bought it. Nat checked to see
how much money he’d saved from his paper route-seven dollars and twenty
cents-and wondered if that was enough to purchase a new shirt and a casual pair
of slacks. If only he had an older brother.
He
put the finishing touches to his essay only hours before his father drove him
across to Simsbury.
As
they traveled north, Nat kept asking himself why he hadn’t called Diane back and
fixed a time and place to meet her. She might have gone away, decided to stay
with a friend-a boyfriend. Would Tom’s parents mind if he asked to use their
phone the moment he arrived?
“Oh,
my God,” said Nat as his father swung his car into a long drive and drove past
a paddock full of horses. Nat’s father would have chastised him for
blaspheming, but was somewhat taken aback himself. The driveway must have
stretched for over a mile before they turned into a gravel courtyard to be
greeted by the most magnificent white pillared colonial home surrounded by
evergreens.
“Oh,
my God,” said Nat a second time.
This
time his father did remonstrate with him.
“Sorry,
Dad, but Tom never mentioned he lived in a palace.”
“Why
should he?” replied his father, “ when it’s all he’s
ever known. By the way, he’s not your closest friend because of the size of his
house, and if he had felt it was necessary to impress you, he would have
mentioned it some time ago. Do you know what his father does, because one
thing’s for sure, he doesn’t sell life insurance. ”
“I
think he’s a banker.”
“Tom Russell, of course. Russell’s Bank,” said his father as they pulled up in front of the house.
Tom
was waiting on the top step to greet them.
“Good
afternoon, sir, how are you?” asked Tom as he opened the door on the driver’s
side.
“I’m
well, thank you, Tom,” replied Michael Cartwright as his son climbed out of the
car, clinging to a small battered suitcase with the initials C. printed next to
the lock.
“Would
you care to join us for a drink, sir?”
“That’s
kind of you,” said Nat’s father, “but my wife will be expecting me back in time
for supper, so I ought to be on my way.”
Nat
waved as his father circled the courtyard and began his return journey to
Cromwell.
Nat
looked up at the house to see a butler standing on the top step. He offered to
take the suitcase, but Nat hung on to it as he was escorted up a magnificent
wide circular staircase to the second floor, where he was shown into a guest
bedroom. In Nat’s home they only had one spare bedroom, which would have passed
as a broom closet in this house. Once the butler had left him, Tom said, “When
you’ve unpacked, come down and meet my mother. We’ll be in the kitchen.”
Nat
sat at the end of one of the twin beds, painfully aware that he would never be
able to invite Tom to stay with him.
It
took Nat about three minutes to unpack as all he had were two shirts, one spare
pair of trousers and a tie. He spent some considerable time checking out the
bathroom before finally bouncing up
“Yes,
of course,” said Diane, “I’d like that very much.” “Goodbye,” said Nat looking
at answer number ten. During the rest of the evening, Nat tried to recall the
conversation in detail, and even wrote it down line by line. He underlined
three times her words- yes, of course, I’d like that
very much. As there were still four days before he was due to visit Tom, he
wondered if he should call Diane again-just to confirm. He returned to Teen
magazine to seek their advice, as they seemed to have anticipated all his
previous problems.
Teen
gave no help on calling a second time, but did suggest for a first date he
should dress casually, be relaxed, and whenever he got the chance, talk about
other girls he’d been out with. He’d never been out with another girl, and
worse, he didn’t have any casual clothes, other than a plaid shirt that he had
hidden in a bottom drawer half an hour after he’d bought it. Nat checked to see
how much money he’d saved from his paper route-seven dollars and twenty
cents-and wondered if that was enough to purchase a new shirt and a casual pair
of slacks. If only he had an older brother.
He
put the finishing touches to his essay only hours before his father drove him
across to Simsbury.
As
they traveled north, Nat kept asking himself why he hadn’t called Diane back and
fixed a time and place to meet her. She might have gone away, decided to stay
with a friend-a boyfriend. Would Tom’s parents mind if he asked to use their
phone the moment he arrived?
“Oh,
my God,” said Nat as his father swung his car into a long drive and drove past
a paddock full of horses. Nat’s father would have chastised him for
blaspheming, but was somewhat taken aback himself. The driveway must have
stretched for over a mile before they turned into a gravel courtyard to be
greeted by the most magnificent white pillared colonial home surrounded by
evergreens.
“Oh,
my God,” said Nat a second time.
This
time his father did remonstrate with him.
“Sorry,
Dad, but Tom never mentioned he lived in a palace.”
“Why
should he?” replied his father, “ when it’s all he’s
ever known. By the way, he’s not your closest friend because of the size of his
house, and if he had felt it was necessary to impress you, he would have
mentioned it some time ago. Do you know what his father does, because one
thing’s for sure, he doesn’t sell life insurance. ”
“I
think he’s a banker.”
“Tom Russell, of course. Russell’s Bank,” said his father as they pulled up in front of the house.
Tom
was waiting on the top step to greet them.
“Good
afternoon, sir, how are you?” asked Tom as he opened the door on the driver’s
side.
“I’m
well, thank you, Tom,” replied Michael Cartwright as his son climbed out of the
car, clinging to a small battered suitcase with the initials C. printed next to
the lock.
“Would
you care to join us for a drink, sir?”
“That’s
kind of you,” said Nat’s father, “but my wife will be expecting me back in time
for supper, so I ought to be on my way.”
Nat
waved as his father circled the courtyard and began his return journey to
Cromwell.
Nat
looked up at the house to see a butler standing on the top step. He offered to
take the suitcase, but Nat hung on to it as he was escorted up a magnificent
wide circular staircase to the second floor, where he was shown into a guest
bedroom. In Nat’s home they only had one spare bedroom, which would have passed
as a broom closet in this house. Once the butler had left him, Tom said, “When
you’ve unpacked, come down and meet my mother. We’ll be in the kitchen.”
Nat
sat at the end of one of the twin beds, painfully aware that he would never be
able to invite Tom to stay with him.
It
took Nat about three minutes to unpack as all he had were two shirts, one spare
pair of trousers and a tie. He spent some considerable time checking out the
bathroom before finally bouncing up
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