hired you because we believe you share our feelings about the importance of our job!”
I assured him that I did indeed share that feeling, and he assured me that he was sure I did, and we hung up. I was not pleased at being asked to teach composition as well as grammar-I was supposed to be strictly a prescriptive-grammar man—but, pending advice from the Doctor, I thought it best to accept the job anyway.
As a matter of fact I drove out to the Morgans’ place at five-thirty, for no particular reason. My day was no longer weatherless, but I was quiescent. I found Joe and Rennie having a leisurely catch with a football on the lawn in front of their house, although the afternoon was fairly warm. They showed no great surprise at seeing me, greeted me cordially, and invited me to join their game.
“No, thanks,” I said, and went over to where their two sons, ages three and four, were throwing their own little football at each other—adeptly for their age. I sat on the grass and watched everybody.
“I didn’t mean to get upset on the phone today, Jake,” Rennie said cheerfully between passes.
“Ah, don’t pay attention to what I say on telephones,” I said. “I can’t talk right on telephones.”
I’ve never seen a girl who could catch and throw a football properly except Rennie Morgan. As a rule she was a clumsy animal, but in any sort of strenuous physical activity she was completely at ease and even graceful. She caught the ball with her hands only—so as not to injure her breasts, I suppose—but she threw it in the same manner and with the same speed and accuracy as a practiced man.
“What have you changed your mind about that you said, then?” Joe asked, keeping his eyes on the ball.
“I don’t even remember what I said.”
“You don’t? Gosh, Rennie remembers the whole conversation. Do you really not remember, or are you trying not to make her uncomfortable?”
“No, I really don’t remember at all,” I said, with some truth. “I’ve learned by now that you all don’t believe in avoiding discomfort. The fact is I can never remember arguments, my own or anybody else’s. I can remember conclusions, but not arguments.”
This observation, which I thought arresting enough, seemed to disgust Joe. He lost interest in the conversation and stopped to correct the older boy’s way of gripping the football. The kid attended his father’s quiet advice as though it were coming from Knute Rockne himself; Joe watched him throw the ball correctly three times and turned away.
“Here, Jake,” he said, tossing me the other ball. “Why don’t you pitch a few with Rennie while I put supper on, and then we’ll have a drink. No use to wait till six-thirty, since you’re here.”
I was, as I said before, quiescent. I would not voluntarily have joined the game, but neither would I go out of my way to avoid playing. Joe went on into the house, the two boys following close behind, and for the next twenty minutes Rennie and I threw the football to each other. Luckily—for as a rule I dreaded being made to look ridiculous—I was no novice at football myself; though not so adept a passer as Joe, I was able to throw at least as accurately and unwobblingly as Rennie. She seemed to have nothing special to say to me, nor did I to her, and so the only sound heard on the lawn was the rush of passing—arms, the quiet spurts of running feet on the grass, the soft smack of catches, and our heavy breathing. It was all neither pleasant nor unpleasant.
Presently Joe called to us from the porch, and we went in to dinner. The Morgans rented half of the first floor of the house. Their apartment was very clean; what furniture they owned was the most severely plain modern, tough and functional, but there was very little of it. In fact, because the rooms were relatively large they seemed quite bare. There were no rugs on the hardwood floors, no curtains or drapes on the polished windows, and not a piece of furniture
I assured him that I did indeed share that feeling, and he assured me that he was sure I did, and we hung up. I was not pleased at being asked to teach composition as well as grammar-I was supposed to be strictly a prescriptive-grammar man—but, pending advice from the Doctor, I thought it best to accept the job anyway.
As a matter of fact I drove out to the Morgans’ place at five-thirty, for no particular reason. My day was no longer weatherless, but I was quiescent. I found Joe and Rennie having a leisurely catch with a football on the lawn in front of their house, although the afternoon was fairly warm. They showed no great surprise at seeing me, greeted me cordially, and invited me to join their game.
“No, thanks,” I said, and went over to where their two sons, ages three and four, were throwing their own little football at each other—adeptly for their age. I sat on the grass and watched everybody.
“I didn’t mean to get upset on the phone today, Jake,” Rennie said cheerfully between passes.
“Ah, don’t pay attention to what I say on telephones,” I said. “I can’t talk right on telephones.”
I’ve never seen a girl who could catch and throw a football properly except Rennie Morgan. As a rule she was a clumsy animal, but in any sort of strenuous physical activity she was completely at ease and even graceful. She caught the ball with her hands only—so as not to injure her breasts, I suppose—but she threw it in the same manner and with the same speed and accuracy as a practiced man.
“What have you changed your mind about that you said, then?” Joe asked, keeping his eyes on the ball.
“I don’t even remember what I said.”
“You don’t? Gosh, Rennie remembers the whole conversation. Do you really not remember, or are you trying not to make her uncomfortable?”
“No, I really don’t remember at all,” I said, with some truth. “I’ve learned by now that you all don’t believe in avoiding discomfort. The fact is I can never remember arguments, my own or anybody else’s. I can remember conclusions, but not arguments.”
This observation, which I thought arresting enough, seemed to disgust Joe. He lost interest in the conversation and stopped to correct the older boy’s way of gripping the football. The kid attended his father’s quiet advice as though it were coming from Knute Rockne himself; Joe watched him throw the ball correctly three times and turned away.
“Here, Jake,” he said, tossing me the other ball. “Why don’t you pitch a few with Rennie while I put supper on, and then we’ll have a drink. No use to wait till six-thirty, since you’re here.”
I was, as I said before, quiescent. I would not voluntarily have joined the game, but neither would I go out of my way to avoid playing. Joe went on into the house, the two boys following close behind, and for the next twenty minutes Rennie and I threw the football to each other. Luckily—for as a rule I dreaded being made to look ridiculous—I was no novice at football myself; though not so adept a passer as Joe, I was able to throw at least as accurately and unwobblingly as Rennie. She seemed to have nothing special to say to me, nor did I to her, and so the only sound heard on the lawn was the rush of passing—arms, the quiet spurts of running feet on the grass, the soft smack of catches, and our heavy breathing. It was all neither pleasant nor unpleasant.
Presently Joe called to us from the porch, and we went in to dinner. The Morgans rented half of the first floor of the house. Their apartment was very clean; what furniture they owned was the most severely plain modern, tough and functional, but there was very little of it. In fact, because the rooms were relatively large they seemed quite bare. There were no rugs on the hardwood floors, no curtains or drapes on the polished windows, and not a piece of furniture
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