“What a fantastic notion! Mrs. Crump you’ve misunderstood my meaning, which was absolutely pure.”
“Do you know what I’d do to a man who threatened my chastity?” Mrs. Crump’s bulk was planted firmly in front of her chastity in a defensive position. “I’d take a meat cleaver to him.”
Lester, who had been prepared to attack or retreat, as developments warranted, decided that it was high time to do the latter. No meat cleaver was in evidence, but he slipped off the stool and got behind it, just in case one suddenly appeared.
“Mrs. Crump, I assure you that your chastity is in no danger. Not the slightest. I only came here to restore good relations, and I’m anxious to show my good faith in any way I can. Perhaps I could perform a small service for you or something.”
“What kind of service?”
“I could exercise Senorita Fogarty for you.”
“You mean take her outside?”
“Yes. For a short walk, perhaps. Surely you recognize the importance of exercise. She has literally God knows how many foot pounds of energy for every pound of dog.”
“Nothing doing. Crump walks the dog. Why are you so interested in doing it all of a sudden? You must be up to something.”
“Nothing of the sort. It’s just that my good feelings include Senorita Fogarty, as well as you and Crump, even though she has deprived me temporarily of my birthright. I’ve renounced resentment and recriminations. Incidentally, I haven’t noticed Senorita Fogarty about. Where is she?”
“Closed in my room, that’s where. And there she stays until you’re gone.”
“Surely I’m permitted to see her? The least you can do is to award me visiting privileges.”
“No privileges. No nothing. She hates you as it is, and you’d only upset her. She’s already a little off her feed.”
“Oh? Is it serious?”
“It would suit you fine if it was, wouldn’t it? No such luck for you, though. She’s missing her Master, poor dear, that’s all. She needs something to take her mind off her sorrow. Companionship is what she needs.”
Lester’s heart, which had lately leaped with hope, now sank in despair. Such a horrible possibility came to mind that he could scarcely bear to contemplate it.
“A nice little bitch would be the thing,” he said. “You understand, I hope, that a male would be unthinkable. It might even be fatal.”
“Fiddlesticks!” said Mrs. Crump. “I was just telling Crump this morning that Senorita Fogarty needs a family of her own. A sweet little stud and a diet of oatmeal would restore her to health in no time.”
“Great God!” Lester’s mounting horror caused his voice to ascend and thin. “Woman, what kind of depraved monster are you? You were just ready to defend your own infernal chastity with a meat cleaver, and now you propose to expose Senorita Fogarty to the most flagrant kind of lust!”
“Dogs are married,” Mrs. Crump said. “They’re born married.”
Lester, confronted by such incredible unenlightenment, could tolerate no more. The woman was clearly shot through with a kind of low peasant cunning, as well as a precarious temper, and retreat was indicated. Abandoning his position, which had been vulnerable from the beginning, he fled the kitchen and the house, and did not stop to reconnoiter until he was, at the curb of the street, stationed in the bucket behind the wheel of his MG.
The one thing that seemed to him imperative was to report quickly the dreadful intelligence that he had gained from his brief, inglorious skirmish with Mrs. Crump. It was an uncalculated compliment to Hester that he thought of her immediately as the proper agency to receive the report. Her superior ingenuity aside, she was, after all, the creator of the present plan, which had just resulted in a rout, and it was therefore her right to know of it first off. So thinking, he drove directly to Hester’s apartment, but as bad luck would have it, Hester wasn’t in.
It was damn inconsiderate of Hester, he thought, to be gone somewhere just when there was the most critical kind of emergency. However ingenious she might be, she was not to be relied on without reservation. He wondered where she was, but the possible places were so numerous and so varied that this was an altogether hopeless effort. The only sensible thing to do was to wait until Hester showed up in her own good time, and so he drove to his own apartment to wait, and there, as good luck would have it, was Hester talking with Flo and Uncle Homer.
Flo had obviously not been up very long, for she was still wearing a nightgown under a robe, and she was having a martini for breakfast with Uncle Homer, who was having several for tea. It was after four o’clock, and so Uncle Homer, who had drunk his breakfast and lunch long ago, was naturally not sober, but neither could he properly be called drunk. Uncle Homer never became properly drunk. So long as he could walk at all, he could walk unerringly in a straight line, and the only visible effect of innumerable martinis was an almost imperceptible process of ossification that suddenly, usually long after dinner, left him as immobile as a stone. Hester also had a martini, but it didn’t seem to be something she particularly wanted or needed. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, and the martini, untasted, was balanced on its stem between her knees.
“Oh, here you are,” Lester said. “I just came from your place. Why the devil don’t you ever stay home?”
“I was just about to ask the same of you, Brother. I came here specifically to see you, and what I want is an accounting. As you may recall, you promised in good faith to get Senorita Fogarty run over in the traffic, but a whole week has passed, and you’ve done nothing whatever about it. Why haven’t you?”
“That’s what I wanted to report. I’ve just come from Grandfather’s house and an encounter with Mrs. Crump. Are you by any chance planning to drink that martini?”
“I’m not sure. I’m considering it.”
“I wonder if you’d mind giving it to me?”
“I don’t really mind, but I don’t want you to get yourself all befuddled before you tell me exactly what happened.”
“A solitary martini couldn’t befuddle anyone,” said Uncle Homer. “It serves as a tonic to sharpen the wits and restore the soul. Give the boy your martini, Hester. It’s apparent that he needs it.”
Hester complied, seeing the need as clearly as Uncle Homer, and they all watched Lester with overt impatience while he drank the martini and consumed the olive.
“Now, Lester,” Hester said. “There is absolutely no excuse to delay an instant longer. Tell me at once what happened at Grandfather’s.”
“Yes, my boy,” said Uncle Homer. “We’re all ears.”
“As for me,” Lester said, “I’m lucky to have any ears whatever. Or anything else, for that matter.”
“Was Mrs. Crump uncooperative?” Hester said.
“That’s hardly the word for it. The damn woman is utterly impregnable. Moreover, she is constantly seething on the verge of violence.”
“I must say, Lester, that I’m disappointed in you. I was sure that you could corrupt her easily if you only tried. Did you really try? Perhaps another attempt would be more successful.”
“Oh, no! No, by God! You will never get me to volunteer, and that’s that.”
“The trouble with you, Lester, is you have no tenacity. You are always ready to give up far too easily. Perhaps you simply used the wrong technique. What did Mrs. Crump say?”
“She threatened to use a meat cleaver on me, that’s what.”
“Actually? How crude!”
“Yes,” said Uncle Homer. “One can never look for anything the least original or refined from people of that class.”
“Lester, darling,” Flo said, “I am constantly getting the most disturbing reports about you. It was only recently that someone threatened to break your arms and legs and heaven knows what all.”