'I like the idea!' Carol cried. 'Everyone reads the "Qwill Pen", and you have a way of educating people without their knowledge.'
'True!' Larry said. 'The locals have a sense of humour; it's simply a matter of getting them tuned in. Give him a script of the play, Carol.'
With the conference ended, Carol walked with Qwilleran to the front door, and Larry plunged into a stack of paperwork. She asked, 'Is Polly Duncan excited about changing jobs?' 'She's saddened to be leaving the library after twenty-odd years as director, but challenged by the prospect of managing a bookstore. Do you have anything to suggest as a graduation present? She has enough jewellery.'
'We're expecting a shipment of lovely cashmere robes, including a heavenly shade of blue that Polly would love.'
Qwilleran's footsteps never led him directly home. There was always a need to buy toothpaste at the drugstore or look at neckties in the men's shop. Today his curiosity led him to Walnut Street to view the new bookstore being bankrolled by the Klingenschoen Fund.
Across the street, a vacant lot that had long been the eyesore of Pickax City had been purchased by the K Fund. Its tall weeds and slum of abandoned buildings had been replaced by a park, and beyond that, a complex of studio apartments at rents affordable to young singles employed in stores and offices downtown. It was called Winston Park. With the coming of the bookstore, the entire commercial neighbourhood was getting a face-lift.
Qwilleran wrote his Tuesday column in the style his readers liked.
Expect the unexpected, friends, when you go to see the new play. The Importance of Being Earnest is said to be the masterpiece of the nineteenth-century playwright and wit Oscar Wilde.
It’s a comedy of manners - a spoof on the snobbish upper crust society in London. According to director Carol Lanspeak, it calls for stylized acting, not realism. Their self-important posturing goes with their lofty opinions. Example:
'To lose one parent, Mr Worthing, may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness.'
The plot is wacky, if not totally insane. One young bachelor has invented a wicked brother named Ernest, another has invented an invalid relative named Bunbury. Why? You'll have to see the play.
Figuring prominently in the plot is a handbag - not a woman's purse, but a small piece of luggage, just large enough to carry . . . You'll have to wait and see!
Then there's the matter of cucumber sandwiches! A young gentleman sends out invitations to an afternoon tea and orders cucumber sandwiches as refreshments. They are so good that he eats the whole plateful before the guests arrive.
I asked food writer Mildred Riker what is so special about cucumber sandwiches. She said, 'To make the classic sandwich, cut a round of bread, spread it with softened butter, layer it with crisp cucumbers sliced paper-thin, and top it with another round of buttered bread. They're delicious! You can't stop eating them!'
Some of the playwright's witticisms are still being used today:
'Thirty-five is a very attractive age. London is full of women of the highest society who have remained thirty-five for years.'
Every evening at eleven o'clock, Qwilleran put a cap on the day by phoning Polly Duncan, the chief woman in his life. On this night she sounded weary.
'You've been working long hours again!' he chided her. 'There's so much to do!' she cried. 'I spend mornings at the library and then seven or eight hours at the bookstore.'
'You must shake loose and come to the opening night of the new play. I know you like Wilde.'
'Oh dear! That's the night of the library board's farewell banquet for me!'
Well, that's important. We'll catch it later. They're doing the play for three weekends. But I'll miss you on opening night. Everyone will ask about you.'
There followed scraps of the unimportant news exchanged by persons who have known each other for a long time.
'You should drink a cup of cocoa and go to bed,' he finally advised. 'Is there anything I can do for you tomorrow?'
'Yes,' she said promptly. 'You could pick up Dundee!'
Chapter 2
Dundee was a marmalade cat named after the Scottish city famous for marmalade. As a kitten he had been donated to the new bookstore being built in Pickax — as a mascot, a bibliocat. He had an outgoing personality that would make friends and influence customers. His luscious tabby markings were cream and apricot, and his eyes were a lively green.
A small apartment in a corner of the office awaited him, equipped with basket-bed, feeding station, water bowl, and 'facilities', as Polly called them.
She explained to Qwilleran, 'We think he should get acquainted with his new environment now, while friendly staffers are setting it up — and before the squealing customers arrive.'
The breeder was the wife of Kip MacDiarmid, editor in chief of the Lockmaster Ledger and a friend of Qwilleran's. They met frequently for lunch at Inglehart's in Lockmaster.
That was where they had lunch on the day of the Dundee Expedition, as Qwilleran would later call it in his personal journal.
While driving to Lockmaster, he reminisced about Winston, the dust-coloured longhair with plumed tail who did the dusting in the late Eddington Smith's dusty old bookshop. Customers went into the shop to say hello to Winston and always bought a pre-owned book for a couple of dollars. Most, if not all, of Qwilleran's books came from Edd's shop before arson reduced it to ashes. Winston had escaped and taken shelter in the weed-covered vacant lot that would now be a park bearing his name. His full name was Winston Churchill, but it was not generally known that he was named after the American author and not the British prime minister.
As soon as they were seated in the restaurant, Kip said in his usual bantering style, 'I see you guys in the boondocks are up to your old tricks, stealing our best people. First you lure our doctors, then our weatherman, and now Alden Wade!'
Qwilleran's retort was prompt. 'We can't help it if they find our quality of life superior.'
`Seriously,' Kip said, 'Alden is a sad case. Do you remember the sniping incident last year? The victim was Alden's wife!
`The case was never closed. He was surrounded by the sad voices and sad faces of sympathizers. Then their son was no longer around so he sold their big house and went in search of a new scene.'
`Can't blame him,' Qwilleran said. 'I've never met him, but I understand he's joined the theatre club. That'll be therapeutic.'
The waitress arrived to take their orders and placed a bud vase with a single yellow rose in the middle of the table. 'The boss wants you to enjoy this with your lunch. It's in its fourth day.'
'Tell Miss Inglehart we're honoured,' Kip said solemnly.
They placed their orders, and then Qwilleran asked, 'Kip, dare I ask the significance of the yellow rose?'
`You don't know! Moose County is more backward than I thought. Rose-watching is the current fascination around here. Once a week everyone buys a single long-stemmed rose in the bud and watches it unfurl day by day.'
`Then Lockmaster County is loonier than I thought,' was Qwilleran's verdict. 'Who started it? The Florists' Association? What is the purpose? Do the rose-watchers compare notes on the Internet? Is there a prize?'
`Moira knows more about it than I do. Ask her when you pick up Dundee.'
The sandwiches were served. The house specialty at lunchtime was the French dip with fries, and silence fell on the table for a while.
Then Qwill asked, 'How's your daughter doing at J school, Kip?'
`Fine! Kathie loves it! She's got journalism in her genes. She and her boyfriend, Wesley, were supposed to enroll at State this fall, you know, but he dropped out. Too bad. They both wrote for the school paper and had part-time jobs at the Ledger. He was a good kid. Top grades, no bad habits. I envisioned him as a future son-in-law, with the two of them taking over the Ledger when I retire. It's no Washington Post, but it's a respected country newspaper. All it lacks is the "Qwill Pen" column. We'd put it on the front page if you'd syndicate, Qwill.'