It was terribly hot inside. They removed their sweaters and went to sit with Arnold at his table.
“Good evening,” said Arnold. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” This he said to Miss Goering. He avoided looking in the direction of Miss Gamelon.
“Well,” said Miss Gamelon, “are you going to explain yourself?”
Arnold had just taken quite a large bite of his sandwich so that he was unable to answer her. But he did roll his eyes in her direction. It was impossible to tell with his cheeks so full whether or not he looked angry. Miss Gamelon was terribly annoyed at this, but Miss Goering sat smiling at them because she was glad to have them both with her again.
Finally Arnold swallowed his food.
“I don’t have to explain myself,” he said to Miss Gamelon, looking very grouchy indeed now that he had swallowed his food. “You owe a profound apology to me for hating me and telling Miss Goering about it.”
“I have a perfect right to hate whom I please,” said Miss Gamelon, “and also, since we live in a free country, I can talk about it on the street corner if I want to.”
“You don’t know me well enough to hate me. You’ve misjudged me anyway, which is enough to make any man furious, and I am furious.”
“Well then, get out of the house. Nobody wants you there anyway.”
“That’s incorrect; Miss Goering, I am sure, wants me there, don’t you?”
“Yes, Arnold, of course,” said Miss Goering.
“There is no justice,” said Miss Gamelon; “you are both outrageous.” She sat up very straight, and both Arnold and Miss Goering stared at her bandage.
“Well,” said Arnold, wiping his mouth and pushing his plate away, “I am sure there is some way whereby we can arrange it so we can both live in the house together.”
“Why are you so attached to the house?” screamed Miss Gamelon. “All you ever do when you’re in it is to stretch out in the parlor and go to sleep.”
“The house gives me a certain feeling of freedom.”
Miss Gamelon looked at him.
“You mean an opportunity to indulge your laziness.”
“Now look,” said Arnold, “suppose that I am allowed to use the parlor after dinner and in the morning. Then you can use it the rest of the time.”
“All right,” said Miss Gamelon, “I agree, but see that you don’t set your foot in it during the entire afternoon.”
On the way home both Miss Gamelon and Arnold seemed quite contented because they had evolved a plan. Each one thought he had got the better of the bargain and Miss Gamelon was already outlining to herself several pleasant ways of spending an afternoon in the parlor.
When they arrived home she went upstairs to bed almost immediately. Arnold lay on the couch, fully dressed, and pulled a knitted coverlet over him. Miss Goering was sitting in the kitchen. After a little while she heard someone sobbing in the parlor. She went inside and found Arnold crying into his sleeve.
“What’s the matter, Arnold?”
“I don’t know,” said Arnold, “it’s so disagreeable to have someone hate you. I really think I had perhaps better leave and go back to my house. But I dislike doing that more than anything in the world and I hate the real-estate business and I hate for her to be angry with me. Can’t you tell her it’s just a period of adjustment for me — to please wait a little bit?”
“Certainly, Arnold, I shall tell her that the very first thing in the morning. Maybe if you went to business tomorrow, she might feel better about you.”
“Do you think so?” asked Arnold, sitting bolt upright in his eagerness. “Then I will.” He got up and stood by the window with his feet wide apart. “I just can’t stand to have anyone hate me during this period of adjustment,” he said, “and then of course I’m devoted to you both.”
The next evening, when Arnold came home with a box of chocolates apiece for Miss Goering and Miss Gamelon, he was surprised to find his father there. He was sitting in a straight-backed chair next to the fireplace, drinking a cup of tea, and he had on a motoring cap.
“I came out to see, Arnold, how well you were providing for these young ladies. They seem to be living in a dung-heap here.”
“I don’t see where you have any right to say such a thing as a guest, Father,” said Arnold, gravely handing a box of candy to each of the women.
“Certainly, because of age, my dear son, I am allowed to say a great many things. Remember you are all my children to me, including Princess over here.” He hooked Miss Goering’s waist with the top of his cane and drew her over to him. She had never imagined she would see him in such a rollicking good humor. He looked to her smaller and thinner than on the night they had met.
“Well, where do you crazy bugs eat?” he asked them.
“We have a square table,” said Miss Gamelon, “in the kitchen. Sometimes we put it in front of the fireplace, but it’s never very adequate.”
Arnold’s father cleared his throat and said nothing. He seemed to be annoyed that Miss Gamelon had spoken.
“Well, you’re all crazy,” he said, looking at his son and at Miss Goering, and purposely excluding Miss Gamelon, “but I’m rooting for you.”
“Where is your wife?” Miss Goering asked him.
“She’s at home, I gather,” said Arnold’s father, “and as sour as a pickle and just as bitter to taste.”
Miss Gamelon giggled at his remark. It was the kind of thing that she found amusing. Arnold was delighted to see that she was brightening up a bit.
“Come out with me,” said Arnold’s father to Miss Goering, “into the wind and the sunshine, my love, or shall I say into the wind and the moonlight, never forgetting to add ‘my love.’”
They left the room together and Arnold’s father led Miss Goering a little way into the field.
“You see,” he said, “I’ve decided to go back to a number of my boyish tastes. For instance, I took a certain delight in nature when I was young. I can frankly say that I have decided to throw away some of my conventions and ideals and again get a kick out of nature — that is, of course if you are willing to be by my side. It all depends on that.”
“Certainly,” said Miss Goering, “but what does this involve?”
“It involves,” said Arnold’s father, “your being a true woman. Sympathetic and willing to defend all that I say and do. At the same time prone to scolding me just a little.” He put his ice-cold hand in hers.
“Let’s go in,” said Miss Goering. “I want to go inside.” She began tugging at his arm, but he would not move. She realized that although he looked terribly old-fashioned and a little ridiculous in his motoring cap, he was still very strong. She wondered why he had seemed so much more distinguished the first night that they had met.
She tugged at his arm even harder, half in play, half in earnest, and in so doing she quite unwittingly scratched the inside of his wrist with her nail. She drew a little blood, which seemed to upset Arnold’s father quite a lot, because he began stumbling through the field as quickly as he could towards the house.
Later he announced to everyone his intention of staying the night in Miss Goering’s house. They had lighted a fire and they were all seated around it together. Twice Arnold had fallen asleep.
“Mother would be terribly worried,” said Arnold.
“Worried?” said Arnold’s father. “She will probably die of a heart attack before morning, but then, what is life but a puff of smoke or a leaf or a candle soon burned out anyway?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t take life seriously,” said Arnold, “and don’t pretend, just because there are women around, that you are light-hearted. You’re the grim, worrying type and you know it.”