“You don’t say?” said George.
“All the signs and portents. I spoke to fifteen of the nineteen St. Bartholomew’s boys that live in California, and every single one of them seemed to go out of his way to say something complimentary about Bing. The coming man in California.”
“That’s good to hear,” said George.
“I’m not going to pretend that I’m not aware of some differences you and he have had, but I thought you’d be pleased to know he’s doing so well. Financially, of course, he’s doing very well.”
“May I ask what he gave you?”
“Well, it will come out eventually. He pledged fifty thousand dollars.”
“Fifty thousand? Oh, but you say pledged,” said George.
“Yes, but half of it right away, and the other twenty-five thousand will be announced next Commencement. There’s no question about his having it to give. I understand he’s giving the same amount to Princeton.”
“To Princeton?”
“Giving it, or has given it already.”
“You’re full of news, Mr. Hibbard. Tell me some more.”
“Be glad to tell you anything I know. I gather that Bing went out there and went right to work for this man King and made a distinctly good impression from the start. Wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty, they said. Well, they’re covered with liquid black gold now, metaphorically speaking. King had a son, a friend of Bing’s, who was killed in an airplane accident, flying his own plane, and after that Mr. King treated Bing as if he were his own father.”
“Hardly that,” said George.
“Well, that isn’t quite what I meant to say, under the circumstances, but in a manner of speaking,” said Hibbard. “Do you realize that those people out there have oil derricks out in the ocean? That’s the new thing out there. I’ve seen them. Perfectly amazing to see one of those towers a hundred yards offshore, with the thing pumping up and down. They don’t miss a trick, those people.”
“So my son has made his pile before he’s thirty. Good for him,” said George.
“With some help from you, I gather.”
“No, the money he had to invest came from his grandfather. My father. I can tell you neither one of us would have put a penny in oil wells. I still wouldn’t.”
“Well, I have. On Bing’s recommendation I’ve bought some San Marco stock. For myself, not for St. Bartholomew’s. Our friends at St. Mark’s School would be amused by that. San Marco’s, St.
“I got it almost immediately,” said George. “From what you’ve told me, though, my son is giving you cash and not stock. The school, that is.”
“Oh, yes indeed. He made me promise not to invest any of the school money in San Marco stock. It’s very risky at the moment, he said, because they’re prospecting elsewhere. He didn’t say where, but he said the whole thing could blow right up in their faces.”
“But you put some of your own money in it.”
“Yes, after I caught some of Bing’s enthusiasm. I’m not in for a great deal, but these things pay off when they pay off, as witness the money Bing has made. You ought to see him, with hobnail boots and a Stetson hat, an old corduroy coat, driving around in a Rolls-Royce.”
“A what?”
“He has a grey Rolls-Royce touring car that I don’t suppose has been washed since he bought it. On the floor in the back are all kinds of tools and metal tubes containing blueprints and so forth. I asked him, why a Rolls instead of a tin lizzie, and his answer was so typical of those people. He wanted a car that he could fill with gas and oil and drive hell out of it without stopping for little things like a broken radius rod. When it wears out he plans to push it over a cliff and get a new one. I don’t know how long it’s been since you last saw Bing, but he’s nothing like the Princeton snake in the Norfolk suit that I remembered. Still plays tennis, he and his wife. She’s pretty good, too. I guess they all are, in California. They have a court made of some composition, much faster than anything I’d ever played on. She beat me, as a matter of fact. We played one set of singles and she took me 9-7, or 8-6. Ran me ragged, and I’ve never been beaten by a girl before that didn’t have a national ranking.”
“I take it you liked her.”
“Very much. There’s no horse-shit about her. That may seem a strange thing to say about a girl, a young woman, but it’s what came to mind. I don’t mean that she isn’t a lady, or unfeminine. Nor is she like the girls that I grew up with, who play pretty good tennis and can handle small boats. It begins I guess with the way she speaks. A low voice, and a Western accent that makes her chew her r’s. She says core instead of car, dawler instead of dollar. And that accent is more masculine than feminine. But for instance when we played tennis, she was wearing a pair of blue jeans, Levis, and high-heeled boots. She just kicked off the boots and put on a pair of sneakers and was ready to play. She shot a snake while I was there. Just went in the house and got a big revolver and came out and killed this rattlesnake that I hadn’t even seen, hiding in the bushes near the tennis court. She said they were entitled to roam around in the hills; but they had to stay off her property, on account of the children. She asked me not to tell Bing she’d killed a rattler, because he’d get a gun and go around looking for the mate and probably be shooting snakes till it was time for dinner.”
“Did you see the children?”
“Oh, my yes. Stevie, named after Mr. King’s son, and Agnes. The boy is about four, and the little girl is two. The little boy never says a word, just looks at you. And of course the little girl hasn’t really learned to talk yet. There must be something to that climate. I have nieces and nephews the same age, and my young relatives don’t seem nearly as robust. Bing and Rita aren’t particularly gigantic, and I’ve met you and Mr. Penrose Lockwood and the late Mrs. Lockwood, Bing’s mother. And I also saw briefly Rita’s father and mother, Mr. and Mrs. Collins?”
“Collier.”
“Thank you. But Bing’s children are Mennen’s Food babies. The boy is a towhead, and has a permanent tan, I guess. The little girl toddles around all over the place, which is why Rita is so vigilant about snakes, she told me. Personally, I wouldn’t live there for anything, but I refuse to go to Squam Lake because they have rattlesnakes in New Hampshire.”
They had proceeded from cocktails through the meat course, and the entree dishes were being taken away. “Excellent chops, Mr. Lockwood.”
“Could you eat another? Only take a few minutes.”
“I could, but I have to drive to Scranton this afternoon.”
“Bob Mackie and Bayard Donaldson?”
“Yes. I’ve been warned not to expect much from Bayard Donaldson.”
“I suppose not. The miners are out on strike. That may affect Bob Mackie’s generosity, too,” said George.
“Well, yes. But Mr. Mackie I believe has other irons in the fire, too.”
“You really do your homework, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes. There are only about seven hundred alumni, you know. Six hundred and eighty-eight, to be exact.”
“And you’re calling on every one of them?”
“Not every single one, separately. Some of the older men can’t have visitors, and there are a few eccentrics who wax indignant if they’re asked for money. We stay away from them. In the Boston and New York area, where most of our people are concentrated, we have small luncheons, especially for the alumni that haven’t been out of college very long. But I expect to have seen, individually, close to four hundred men by the time I get through. It’s been a very interesting experience, and I’ve learned a lot about the country, driving around.”