stairs. For some time I watched the house, wishing for binoculars; better yet, a telescope. My eyes are good, but from this distance I could not make out anything specific
After a while my eyes tired; that brought thoughts of Amy, and the fact that I had had very little sleep the last few nights. I stretched out on the bed and fell asleep immediately. I was awakened at four o’clock by a gentle rapping at my door. It was Harry Gould.
“I’m sorry,” he said; “did I wake you?”
I shook my head, but there was still sleep in my eyes.
“Accept the apologies of the house. I just came up to see if you’d be interested in joining me and the other guests for dinner tonight?”
“Dinner?”
“It’ll have to be pot luck, since I’ve only stocked supplies according to my own taste. At least you won’t be subjected to my cooking. Miss Sargent is doing the honors.”
“What time?”
“Seven o’clock. Come down at six and we men can have a touch in the den.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
He turned way, but I called to him before he had reached the end of the hallway: “Has the young lady I mentioned shown up yet?”
“I haven’t seen her.”
I nodded and closed the door. Then I showered and changed clothes and returned to my perch at the window for another uneventful hour watching the house.
At six I locked my room and went downstairs. Already an odor of good cooking was in the air, and as I came into the kitchen area I saw the girl at work over the stove. She was busy and did not see me, and I did not introduce myself, deciding to leave that to Gould. The den that Gould mentioned opened from behind the bar. I walked in and found Gould stirring a fire and another man, tall and thin, standing nearby with a drink in his hand. Gould heard me enter and came forward, hand outstretched.
“Mr. Ryan, come in. This is Willy Max. Mr. Max, Mr. Ryan.”
We shook hands and Gould said, “Did you meet Miss Sargent?”
“She seemed pretty busy when I passed through. I thought I’d leave her be till later.”
Max smiled. “Judging from the smell of that meal, I’d say she’s an artist. Nobody should ever disturb an artist at work. You probably did exactly right.”
“Mr. Max is a great believer in human ability,” Gould said.
“I believe everyone has one talent that he does naturally better than other people in that same field who cultivated theirs,” Max said. “The trouble is, most of us waste our natural abilities, and they deteriorate to nothing.”
I found that line of thought interesting. “What’s your talent, Mr. Max?”
“I climb mountains, and call me Willy. My wife finds mountains as big a bore as I find her damned opera. So once a year she goes to New York and I come out here. What’s yours?”
I thought for a minute. “I’m not sure I have one.”
“Please—there’s no room for modesty in this crowd.”
It’s got nothing to do with modesty, honestly. I just can’t think of anything that I can do better than anyone else.”
“What’s your occupation, then?”
“I’m an engineer. But that’s probably a result of circumstances, not talent. I try not to take it home.”
“Interesting,” Gould said.
Max pressed it: “Some people excel at hobbies. Take Harry here—best damned innkeeper in the state. That’s probably because he doesn’t do it for money. Do you have any hobbies?”
I thought long again. “Not really. You’ll give me a complex, Mr.—Willy—you’ve made me realize how really ordinary I am.”
“That wasn’t my intent. Well, let’s drop it and have a drink.”
Gould moved toward the door that opened into the bar.
“Bourbon, please,” I said.
While he was getting my drink, Max sat in a large comfortable-looking chair that seemed to engulf him. “I try to get up here for at least two weeks a year. Usually there’s no one else here; nobody but Harry and those abominable goddamn hippies. I can even remember a time when they weren’t here.
After a while my eyes tired; that brought thoughts of Amy, and the fact that I had had very little sleep the last few nights. I stretched out on the bed and fell asleep immediately. I was awakened at four o’clock by a gentle rapping at my door. It was Harry Gould.
“I’m sorry,” he said; “did I wake you?”
I shook my head, but there was still sleep in my eyes.
“Accept the apologies of the house. I just came up to see if you’d be interested in joining me and the other guests for dinner tonight?”
“Dinner?”
“It’ll have to be pot luck, since I’ve only stocked supplies according to my own taste. At least you won’t be subjected to my cooking. Miss Sargent is doing the honors.”
“What time?”
“Seven o’clock. Come down at six and we men can have a touch in the den.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
He turned way, but I called to him before he had reached the end of the hallway: “Has the young lady I mentioned shown up yet?”
“I haven’t seen her.”
I nodded and closed the door. Then I showered and changed clothes and returned to my perch at the window for another uneventful hour watching the house.
At six I locked my room and went downstairs. Already an odor of good cooking was in the air, and as I came into the kitchen area I saw the girl at work over the stove. She was busy and did not see me, and I did not introduce myself, deciding to leave that to Gould. The den that Gould mentioned opened from behind the bar. I walked in and found Gould stirring a fire and another man, tall and thin, standing nearby with a drink in his hand. Gould heard me enter and came forward, hand outstretched.
“Mr. Ryan, come in. This is Willy Max. Mr. Max, Mr. Ryan.”
We shook hands and Gould said, “Did you meet Miss Sargent?”
“She seemed pretty busy when I passed through. I thought I’d leave her be till later.”
Max smiled. “Judging from the smell of that meal, I’d say she’s an artist. Nobody should ever disturb an artist at work. You probably did exactly right.”
“Mr. Max is a great believer in human ability,” Gould said.
“I believe everyone has one talent that he does naturally better than other people in that same field who cultivated theirs,” Max said. “The trouble is, most of us waste our natural abilities, and they deteriorate to nothing.”
I found that line of thought interesting. “What’s your talent, Mr. Max?”
“I climb mountains, and call me Willy. My wife finds mountains as big a bore as I find her damned opera. So once a year she goes to New York and I come out here. What’s yours?”
I thought for a minute. “I’m not sure I have one.”
“Please—there’s no room for modesty in this crowd.”
It’s got nothing to do with modesty, honestly. I just can’t think of anything that I can do better than anyone else.”
“What’s your occupation, then?”
“I’m an engineer. But that’s probably a result of circumstances, not talent. I try not to take it home.”
“Interesting,” Gould said.
Max pressed it: “Some people excel at hobbies. Take Harry here—best damned innkeeper in the state. That’s probably because he doesn’t do it for money. Do you have any hobbies?”
I thought long again. “Not really. You’ll give me a complex, Mr.—Willy—you’ve made me realize how really ordinary I am.”
“That wasn’t my intent. Well, let’s drop it and have a drink.”
Gould moved toward the door that opened into the bar.
“Bourbon, please,” I said.
While he was getting my drink, Max sat in a large comfortable-looking chair that seemed to engulf him. “I try to get up here for at least two weeks a year. Usually there’s no one else here; nobody but Harry and those abominable goddamn hippies. I can even remember a time when they weren’t here.
Similar Books
