Arnold’s father looked around him furtively. “I don’t know,” he said, “I didn’t feel any desire to.”
She introduced the two men to each other and they all sat down together. Arnold’s father asked Andy very politely whether or not he lived in this town and what his business was. During the course of their conversation they both discovered that not only had they been born in the same town, but they had, in spite of difference in age, also lived there once at the same time without ever having met. Andy, unlike most people, did not seem to become more lively when they both happened upon this fact.
“Yes,” he answered wearily to the questions of Arnold’s father, “I did live there in 1920.”
“Then certainly,” said Arnold’s father sitting up straighter, “then certainly you were well acquainted with the McLean family. They lived up on the hill. They had seven children, five girls and two boys. All of them, as you must remember, were the possessors of a terrific shock of bright red hair.”
“I did not know them,” said Andy quietly, beginning to get red in the face.
“That’s very strange,” said Arnold’s father. “Then you must have known Vincent Connelly, Peter Jacketson, and Robert Bull.”
“No,” said Andy, “no, I didn’t.” His good spirits seemed to have vanished entirely.
“They,” said Arnold’s father, “controlled the main business interests of the town.” He studied Andy’s face carefully.
Andy shook his head once more and looked off into space.
“Riddleton?” Arnold’s father asked him abruptly.
“What?” said Andy.
“Riddleton, president of the bank.”
“Well, not exactly,” said Andy.
Arnold’s father leaned back against the bench and sighed. “Where did you live?” he asked finally of Andy.
“I lived,” said Andy, “at the end of Parliament Street and Byrd Avenue.”
“It was terrible around there before they started tearing it up, wasn’t it?” Arnold’s father said, his eyes filled with memories.
Andy pushed the table roughly aside and walked quickly over to the bar.
“He didn’t know anyone decent in the whole blooming town,” said Arnold’s father. “Parliament and Byrd was the section—”
“Please,” said Miss Goering. “Look, you’ve insulted him. What a shame; because neither one of you cares about this sort of thing at all! What nasty little devil got into you both?”
“I don’t think he has very good manners, and he is clearly not the type of man I would expect to find you associating with.”
Miss Goering was a little peeved with Arnold’s father, but instead of saying anything to him she went over to Andy and consoled him.
“Please don’t mind him,” she said. “He’s really a delightful old thing and quite poetic. It’s just that he’s been through some radical changes in his life, all in the last few days, and I guess he’s feeling the strain now.”
“Poetic is he?” Andy snapped at her. “He’s a pompous old monkey. That’s what he is.” Andy was really very angry.
“No,” said Miss Goering, “he is not a pompous old monkey.”
Andy finished his drink and swaggered over to Arnold’s father with his hands in his pockets.
“You’re a pompous old monkey!” he said to him. “A pompous old good-for-nothing monkey!”
Arnold’s father slid out of his seat with his eyes cast downward and walked towards the door.
Miss Goering, who had overheard Andy’s remark, hurried after him, but she whispered to Andy as she passed him, that she intended to come right back.
When they were outside they leaned together against a lamp post. Miss Goering cold see that Arnold’s father was trembling.
“I have never in my life encountered such rudeness,” he said. “That man is worse than a gutter puppy.”
“Well, I wouldn’t worry about it,” said Miss Goering. “He was just ill-tempered.”
“Ill-tempered?” said Arnold’s father. “He’s the kind of cheaply dressed brute that is more and more thickly populating the world today.”
“Oh, come,” said Miss Goering, “that is neither here nor there.”
Arnold’s father looked at Miss Goering. Her face was very lovely on this particular evening, and he sighed with regret. “I suppose,” he said, “that you are deeply disappointed in me in your own particular way, and that you are able to have respect in your heart for him while you are unable to find it within that very same heart for me. Human nature is mysterious and very beautiful, but remember that there are certain infallible signs that I, as an older man, have learned to recognize. I would not trust that man too far. I love you, my dear, with all my heart, you know.”
Miss Goering stood in silence.
“You are very close to me,” he said after a little while, squeezing her hand.
“Well,” she said, “would you care to step back into the saloon or do you feel that you’ve had enough?”
“It would be literally impossible for me to return to that saloon even should I have the slightest desire to. I think I had better go along. You won’t come with me, will you, my dear?”
“I’m very sorry,” said Miss Goering, “but unfortunately this was a previous engagement. Would you like me to walk down to the basket-ball court? Perhaps Arnold will have wearied of his game by this time. If not, you can easily sit and watch the players for a little while.”
“Yes, that would be very kind of you,” said Arnold’s father, in such a sad voice that he almost broke Miss Goering’s heart.
Very shortly they arrived at the basket-ball court. Things had changed quite a bit. Most of the small boys had dropped out of the game and a great many young men and women had taken the place of both the small boys and the guards. The women were screaming with laughter and quite a large crowd had gathered to watch the players. After Miss Goering and Arnold’s father had stood there for a minute they realized that Arnold himself was the cause of most of the merriment. He had removed his coat and his sweater and, to their surprise, they saw that he was still wearing his pajama top. He had pulled it outside of his pants in order to appear more ridiculous. They watched him run across the court with the ball in his arms roaring like a lion. When he arrived at a strategic position, however, instead of passing the ball on to another member of his team he merely dropped it on the court between his feet and proceeded to butt one of his opponents in the stomach like a goat. The crowd roared with laughter. The uniformed guards were particularly delighted because it was a pleasant and unexpected break in the night’s routine. They were all standing in a row, smiling very broadly.
“I shall try and see if I can find a chair for you,” said Miss Goering. She returned shortly and led Arnold’s father to a folding chair that one of the guards had obligingly set up right outside of the ticket office. Arnold’s father sat down and yawned.
“Good-by,” said Miss Goering. “Good-by, darling, and wait here until Arnold has finished his game.”
“But wait a moment,” said Arnold’s father. “When will you return to the island?”
“I might not return,” she said. “I might not return right away, but I will see that Miss Gamelon receives enough money to manage the house and the food.”
“But I must certainly see you. This is not a very human way to make a departure.”
“Well, come along a minute,” said Miss Goering, taking hold of his hand and pulling him with difficulty through the crowd over to the sidewalk.
Arnold’s father remonstrated that he would not return to the saloon for a million dollars.
“I’m not taking you to the saloon. Don’t be silly,” she said. “Now, do you see that ice-cream parlor across the street?” She pointed to a little white store almost directly opposite them. “If I don’t come back, which is very probable, will you meet me there on Sunday morning? That will be in eight days, at eleven o’clock in the morning.