A hand came down on the back of his neck. It gripped like a steel collar. “How dare you be insulting to Hayworth Brown, Junior,” Charlotte spit in his ear.
When he looked up at her, she was smiling over his head. She kept on smiling in a vacant way as she continued: “He’s one of the richest men in town. He’s the son of Hayworth Dalton Brown,” she said with a swift intake of breath.
Sport tried to pull away, but her hand was like a bear trap. “He passed it off as a joke, of course, but I could see that he wasn’t amused, and I am not one bit amused. You’re going to bed without your supper, young man.”
Sport looked up at her in horror.
“Oh, yes. You will learn your manners right now. Up the stairs,” she said, still smiling vacantly over his shoulder. She gave him a push.
He pushed his way out through the people and went up the steps to his room.
When he got there, he got out the money his father had given him and put it in his pocket. He put all his clothes back in the old suitcase and rammed his books in on top of them.
He opened the door to his room. A maid whipped by. Then the hall was empty. He tiptoed out and around a corner looking for a back staircase. He found one and started sneaking down. As he was about to round a corner he heard voices.
“We can’t be out of anchovies.”
“We are.”
“Hop to Gristede’s right now then, miss. Be quick about it.”
Silence. Sport went around the corner and found himself in a butler’s pantry off the kitchen. He sneaked through this and found a hall which led to a side door. He jumped out the door and ran for his life up the street. He found a cab quickly and, jumping in, he gave the driver his address.
“Moving?” said the driver.
“What? Yeah,” said Sport.
“Wouldn’t be running away, would you?” asked the driver, craning around to get a look at him.
“What? No. Going to my grandmothers,” mumbled Sport.
“Oh? Got to be careful, you know Police ask if we’ve seen some boy, you know how it is.”
“Yeah,” said Sport, wondering how it was.
The driver didn’t say any more. They pulled up in front of his house and he got out and ran upstairs.
He didn’t have the key. He had given his key to Kate in case Mr. Rocque lost his. What’ll I do now? He remembered Mr. Collins, the landlord. He ran downstairs and rang his bell.
“What? Who is it?” bellowed Mr. Collins.
“I forgot my key,” said Sport.
Mr. Collins opened the door. “Oh. Hi there, Mr. C.P.A.”
“I forgot my key. Could I have the extra one?”
“What? Sure. Here you go,” said Mr. Collins, reaching behind the door to a board he had with all the keys on it. “There you go.”
“Thanks.” Sport ran away before he could say any more to him.
“Nice suit you got there,” yelled Mr. Collins up the steps. “Some party you folks gave last night,” he shouted.
“Yeah,” said Sport. He got the door open and went into the apartment. He set his suitcase down with a thump. “Whew!”
He looked around. The shades were all pulled down. He went around and pulled them up. He went into the kitchen and looked in the icebox. There were a lot of things left over from the party. He got them out and put them on the table. He opened a Coke and began to eat everything he could get his hands on, cramming it into his mouth.
Maybe I could find out where they are on Long Island and go there. No, he cautioned himself, I’ve heard that people like to be alone on their honeymoons. Maybe I could go to Seymour’s.
He went in and called Seymour on the phone. No one answered. Mrs. O’Neil was in the store, so Seymour must be out. He thought about going over to the store, but instead he called Harry.
“Harry?”
“Yeah. Hi, Sport. I thought you were over to your mother’s.”
“I left. I ran away.”
‘Yeah? No friz?”
“Yeah. Listen, Harry, could you put me up there?”
“Geez. We only got the two beds, Sport. Me and my two brothers are in one and my mother and sister are in the other one. Tonight we even got my uncle on the couch.”
“Oh.”
“What happened?”
“Aaah, the blanking woman. She ran me all over town all day opening doors for her and putting her in cabs and things, then there’s this blanking party with these blanking bores all over the place when we got home and she makes me go to it. Hey, Harry, some guy came up and dressed me!”
“You mean like a valet? Like the movies?” Harry shrieked.
‘Yeah. Got the picture? He makes me go to this party so some lousy guy with bad breath starts bellyaching at me, so I call him a jingle bell. So the blanking woman sends me to bed with no dinner! I’m starving, and she sends me upstairs. So I left.”
“Geez,” said Harry, impressed. “What you gonna do now?”
“I don’t know. I tried to get Seymour. If I sleep here, they’ll come get me, I think.”
“Seymour and his mother had to go to Jersey. Some uncle died, so they closed the store and went over there.”
“Geez,” said Sport.
“I wish I could put you up here. Hey, I could stay at your house and you stay here, then when they come to get you … Naw, that wouldn’t work. They find me there, they put me in jail.” Harry sounded worried. “I know what you do, Sport. See, you turn out all the lights and you pull the shades down like there’s nobody there. Then when they ring the bell, you don’t answer.”
“Yeah,” said Sport.
“That way they think nobody’s there,” said Harry. “You got enough food?”
“Sure, left over from the party.”
“Oh, wow,” said Harry, “I oughta come over there and eat.”
“Come on, there’s a lot.”
“Naw, I ate already. I’ll come in the morning.”
“Okay.”
“Take it easy, Sport. Hey, Sport, you wanta get rid of your old lady?”
“Whataya mean?” asked Sport nervously. He didn’t want to bump anybody off.
“Just ask me over for tea!” said Harry and went off in a high cackle that tore through the phone.
“Crazy, man,” said Sport.
“Okay, so long now,” said Harry.
“So long,” said Sport and hung up. He felt horribly alone as he put the phone down.
He turned off the lights and pulled down all the shades. He sat in the gloom on the couch until he began to fall asleep and then he went into his room and laydown on his bed.
CHAPTER
Sixteen
The next thing he knew, there was a lot of yelling, a light being turned on over his head, and Mr. Wilton standing looking down at him. It was Mr. Collins doing the yelling. He waddled in the door saying, “Don’t like these goings on. How’m I to know his father’s out of town? All I know, they had a party raise the roof last night on till three in the morning, crashing around, screaming …”
“Thank you for opening the door,” said Mr. Wilton coldly. “I shall keep the key until his father returns.”
“I need the key …” started Mr. Collins.
“If you need the key, you can place a call to me and you will have the key as quickly as it is humanly possible to get it to you.” There was something about Mr. Wilton’s voice that shut Mr. Collins up. He looked at Mr. Wilton with his eyes bugging as Mr. Wilton handed him his card.
“Yes,” said Mr. Collins and left the room still squinting at the card.
“I suggest you get up,” said Mr. Wilton.
Sport stood up.
“Comb your hair and wash your face,” said Mr. Wilton.
Sport went into the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes looked small and sleepy and helpless. He started to feel a terrible sadness. He washed his face and dried it with a towel that smelled like Kate. The smell made him remember what his father had said about Charlotte getting
sick of having him around. “I’ll make her sick,” he said to himself in the mirror. He clenched his jaw, trying to look like Agent 007. “I’ll make her pay to get rid of me,” he growled at himself.
He flung the towel on the floor, thought of Kate, and leaned down to pick it up. He hung it neatly, went out into the living room, and marched to the front door.
“Where are you going?” asked Mr. Wilton, hurriedly rising from the couch.
“Back to prison, where else?” said Sport, and walked out the door.
He went down the steps. He heard Wilton behind him closing and locking the door. The next time I come back here, said Sport to himself, it’ll be for good.
He climbed into the car before Egbert had time to hop out and open the door. Mr. Wilton followed. They rode back to Charlotte’s house without a word.
The party was still going on. Mr. Wilton led Sport through the side door and up to his room. Sport sat down on the chaise and folded his arms. Mr. Wilton put the still unopened suitcase on a chair, took out Sport’s pajamas, and put them on the bed.
He pulled up another chair and sat down across from Sport. “Simon, I think we ought to have a talk.”
Sport said nothing.
“Something seems to be bothering you,” he continued. “What seems to be the trouble?”
There was no way to even begin to tell him, so Sport kept his mouth shut.
“You’re not happy here?”
Silence.
“Are there things you want you’re not getting?”
Yeah, my father and Kate, you jingle bell, thought Sport.
“If so, you must tell me. I want you to be able to trust me. I’m on your side.
“I know it’s hard to make the adjustment right at first, but you cannot run away again. Your grandfather wanted, more than anything in the world, for you to be happy. He has arranged things in such a way that he thought would make you happy. I think the least you can do is to give it a fair trial.”
Sport began to sink down somewhere inside himself. What is happening? he asked himself. Why has everybody gone crazy? What is this man talking about?
‘We’ll have a talk in the morning,” said Wilton in a kind voice. He replaced the chair. “Get some sleep now.” He smiled once quickly at the bed as though he found the pajamas amusing, and went out of the room. Sport heard a key turn in the lock.
I’m locked in, he thought wildly. He tried, unsuccessfully, to think what Agent 007 might do. He got up, undressed mechanically, and got into bed. There’ll be a way, he thought as he fell asleep. There’s always a way. I’ll play it by ear and I’ll find a way.
CHAPTER
Seventeen
The next morning there was a summit meeting after breakfast. Sport felt very much awake, eager to listen, but he showed nothing. He tried to look sleepy.
“I thought we should have a little discussion,” said Wilton by way of opening the meeting.
“Too boring,” said Charlotte. “It’s simply bad behavior and should be punished.” She was so furious that she wouldn’t look at Sport.
“I think we are a little more enlightened these days, Charlotte,” said Wilton mildly.
“Perhaps he is lonely,” said Carrie.
“Ridiculous,” said Charlotte. She stared hard at Sport. “You are not to run away again. Do you understand that?”
Sport laughed right in her face.
“You see?” said Charlotte. “He’s been raised in a barn. I know Matthew. Matthew has never heard of good manners. The boy is a savage.”
“Charlotte,” said Wilton in a warning voice. “There is a reason the boy ran away. Why don’t we ask him?”
“Perhaps he misses his little friends,” whined Carrie.
“Well, if he thinks I’m going to fill up this house with a lot of nasty children, he’s wrong,” said Charlotte.
“Simon,” said Wilton calmly. “I’d like you to tell us why you did what you did.”
There was a silence. Charlotte snorted. Now’s my chance, thought Sport. Taking his cue from Carrie, he said, “There aren’t any other kids here.”
“Carrie, you’re such a fool,” said Charlotte.
“No,” said Wilton. “Perhaps Carrie was simply right. It’s lonely with no one but grown-ups around. Is that right, Simon?”
“Yes,” said Sport, attempting to look pitiful.
“There, you see,” said Carrie triumphantly.
“I will not have it,” said Charlotte. “A lot of dirty children from the streets tramping through here, breaking things.”
“Now wait a minute,” said Wilton calmly. “Simon went to a very good school. I’m sure the children from the Gregory School are very well behaved. They’re nice children, aren’t they, Simon?”
“Yes,” said Sport.
“It’s very simple,” said Carrie. “We’ll invite two or three over today for lunch.”
“Fine,” said Wilton. “How does that sound, Simon?”
“Fine,” said Sport. Oh, goody, oh golly gee, is what I should say, he told himself and started laughing in his head. His face showed absolutely nothing.
“Fine,” said Wilton. “Run along and call them up.”
“Needless to say, I will go out to lunch,” said Charlotte as Sport went through the door.
“Charlotte,” said Wilton, “you are making a big mistake.” His voice took on a courtroom sound. “I am warning you. If you want to keep this boy…” Sport had to close the door so he couldn’t hear the rest.
He went to an upstairs phone where no one could hear him. He made three calls. During each call he gave long and involved instructions with many interjections of “Get what I mean?” and “Got it?”
Everybody got it.
At twelve thirty Charlotte was sitting, visibly unhappy, with Sport in the drawing room. The doorbell rang. Charlotte was unable to suppress a tiny groan.
His friends, who had arrived together, were ushered into the room.
Harriet came first, pushing ahead of the butler in her eagerness to see everything. She was dressed in her best dress, her best coat, and, wonder of wonders, a leghorn hat which crashed against the doorsill and thereafter sat crooked upon her head.
Harry came next, dressed in the most important-looking suit Sport had aver seen. He looked like the Duke of Windsor, only brown. His slim boots were polished to a blinding glow, his tight, gray flannel suit was beautifully cut and fell gracefully back into place as he moved into the room.
Seymour looked as though he were going to be Bar Mitzvahed. His hair had been plastered wet into his head, his dark blue suit, though a bit tight across the chest, was newly cleaned and pressed. His shirt was gleaming white, his tie a cheerful red. He could have posed for the child of an Irish cop.
Charlotte was dutifully introduced to each in turn. She blinked at the word Seymour, but said nothing.
They all sat down around the coffee table. Each was well rehearsed and they began their scenes with Harriet taking off her hat. Out of her hat she took a notebook and a pen.
Chatting away nervously, Charlotte watched her out of the corner of her eye. For one terrible moment Sport thought he was going to have to feel sorry for her because she seemed more nervous than the kids, but her conversation was so inane that it destroyed any compassion he might have felt.
“You all attend the Gregory School?” she said in a strange, fluting voice, looking wonderingly at the knife crease in Harry’s pants.
“Oh, yes,” said Seymour in a completely unnatural voice.
“I say, that we do,” said Harry in a British accent.
Harriet had started to write down everything furiously.
Charlotte flicked her eyes at Harriet, then looked away quickly. Harriet wrote that down, too.
“I hear that it’s a very good school,” said Charlotte vaguely as she watched Harriet.
“Quite,” said Harry.
“I have, of course, been out of the country for so long …” said Charlotte.
�
�Of course,” said Harry.
“… but I’m told that only the best families …” Charlotte broke off because Harriet was leaning over almost in her face as she took down her words.
“Oh, rather,” said Harry.
Charlotte was plainly at a loss for words. She rang a small bell on the table. The butler appeared at the door almost instantly. “Tell Miss Carrie that our guests are here,” she said in a clipped way that made Sport know she was desperate. “And bring me a martini. Oh, and bring the children something … cranberry juice.”
“Cranberry juice?” said Harriet loudly.
The butler went away. Charlotte looked around desperately as though she would find something to say lying on the floor.
Harriet’s pen stopped writing. She looked around curiously. Seymour coughed. Harry flicked imaginary dust from his sleeve.
“It’s a beautiful day,” said Seymour. He said it eagerly. It was plain that he was the oh-golly-gee lead in this play.
“Been rather muggy lately,” said Harry.
“Yes, it has,” said Charlotte, as though the weather were fascinating. “The weather has been dreadful. I was just saying the other day, I cannot remember such a long, dreadful stretch of bad weather.”
What are they talking about? thought Sport. There haven’t been anything but sunny days lately.
Carrie came in. Seymour, Harry, and Sport jumped to their feet.
“Oh, my, how nice,” said Carrie, her eyes glazing over as they rested an undue length of time on Harry.
Sport introduced everyone.
“How do you do?” said Harriet, nodding briefly and resuming her writing.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Seymour and looked eager.
“Enchanted,” said Harry.
Carrie’s eyebrows went up. She took the chair next to Sport, moving around Harry as though he were an iceberg.
“We were just talking about the children who attend the Gregory School,” said Charlotte.
“Oh, yes,” said Carrie. She turned to Harriet. “Your name is Welsch? I think I knew your grandfather,” she said sweetly.
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