Spiderweb for Two - A Melendy Maze by Elizabeth Enright Page B

run by a man, or a lot of men, in business suits. In a few countries the most important man does wear a uniform, but still he isn’t called a king, though he’s treated like one. He’s called Marshal or Generalissimo or something like that, and his uniforms are severe and unjoyful looking.”
    â€œGee, too bad,” said Oliver.
    â€œIf only Father was home,” said Randy. “He knows everything about history; he’d give us all the names we needed. Who do we know, think, Oliver, that has an emperorish name?”
    â€œWhat about Frederick?” asked Oliver tentatively. “Wasn’t there an emperor named Frederick, somewhere or other, haven’t I heard? How about Mr. Frederick, the butcher?”
    â€œOliver!” cried Randy, in delight, falling off her bicycle—though not seriously. “Of course there was! I’m sure you’ve done it again! Let’s go right back now, and see.”
    â€œNo, wait a minute,” said Oliver, who was less impulsive than Randy and liked to have things, as far as possible, planned in advance. “We’d better be sure where to look for the clue when we get to Mr. Frederick’s. What does it mean: ‘Beneath, the hours tell their names and go’?”
    â€œOh, I have that one figured out. It must be a clock, or a sundial; maybe it could be a watch, even!”
    â€œIt could be a radio,” Oliver suggested. “ They’re always telling what the hour is.”
    â€œMaybe. But what about that silent voice above?”
    â€œWell.… It could be a radio on a table with a picture of George Washington over it, or some other dead famous person that talked a lot and made speeches. I mean it could be, ” said Oliver, his imagination running riot.
    â€œIt might be the clock on the Carthage courthouse tower; the bell in the top hasn’t been rung since the war ended.”
    â€œBrother, I’d like it to be there!” said Oliver, who saw himself hanging from the tower with Randy leaning out of the belfry and holding him by the heels. He could imagine the little blue paper, wedged in a crack in the wall, and the pale, upturned faces in the street below.
    â€œIt would be hard to keep it a secret if they hid it there, though,” said Randy, in whose mind a somewhat similar scene had been enacted. In this case, though, it was she who had hung head down to grasp the prize. “And anyway, name me an emperor who inhabits the Carthage courthouse!”
    The next day, after school, they stopped in at Mr. Klaus Frederick’s meat store. Randy had prudently asked Cuffy to let her do the marketing for once. As she had never asked to do this in her life before, Cuffy had thought it wise to encourage her.
    â€œWhy, I guess so, child. Here, I’ll make a list. The family’s smaller now, so I’m sure you and Oliver can fit the parcels into your bicycle baskets.”
    Mr. Frederick’s meat store was a clean, blank place with sawdust on the floor. They had never been in it before, only seen it as they passed by. Cuffy patronized another, Gus Vogeltree’s, farther down the street. This was a less jolly place. Beyond the shop there was another room, darker, where they could see big beef carcasses hanging from meathooks, ghostly in the gloom.
    Mr. Frederick looked like a piece of meat himself—a cut of beef—red in the face, jowly, with two large hands, like steaks, placed on the counter before him. He wore a tight white apron, rather soiled, a stiff straw hat, and a pencil behind his ear. He did not smile.
    â€œWell, kids, what’ll it be?”
    Randy read from her list: “Six pork chops, please. And two pounds of round steak, ground. And have you any beef heart for our dogs?”
    â€œI got beef heart, I don’t know if it’s for your dogs,” said Mr. Frederick ungenially.
    While Randy was ordering, Oliver’s eyes were darting about the shop; at