Sullivan."
"Joseph Sullivan happens to be an author whose work I am occupied in encouraging him in. And I happen to hold a position of some responsibility in a leading publishing . . "
"Come off it, Elly," Bryan said, slapping her across the rear. "You haven't read a book since Raggedy Ann. And when it comes to helping somebody write one—why you can't even speak English."
"Well it just so happens to be true. I don't care that—" she tried to snap her fingers and failed, "—for Joe Sullivan or any other male."
"Not even me?"
"Except you. Oh, Bryan come on. Be nice to me. You're the only person in the whole family who ever understands me or doesn't tell me my slip's showing or . . ."
"It isn't showing now."
"That's because I'm not wearing one. Aren't I a chippy! You're the only one who's ever any fun."
"All right. Beat it while I get dressed."
"Can't I stay? I'll bet you haven't got anything I couldn't find in Gray's Anatomy."
"Well, go read Gray's Anatomy. Or go look at Paul." Bryan opened Paul's door and shoved her through.
Elly was back in a minute.
"Oh Bryan, he's in one of his moods. Why, Bry-an Ames! What darling undies! I think that little checkerboard pattern is too cunning!"
"What's the matter with Paul?"
"Oh, he's just sitting there at that old drawing board in that empty room scratching down a lot of figures. He's wearing that dirty old kind of monk's robe and he hasn't shaved and when I just asked him—and quite pleasantly—what he was doing (not that I really cared) he practically bit me. Oh, Bryan, why do he and Kathy have to be so moody and complicated when you and I aren't one bit complicated at all?"
"Aren't we? Well, come on. Let's go,"
"No trousers this morning, Bryan?"
"Oh. Damn you. Wait a minute."
9: Athletics
The beach at the old Pruitt Place was three miles long and considered one of the finest on the Sound. It was remarkably free of stones and seaweed and the sand was as fine and as white as snow. From the lawn a rustic staircase—somewhat insecure—led to an even more rustic structure built vaguely in the style of a Swiss chalet. Violet referred to this building as a cabana. Lily, more realistically, called it a bath house. It had been put up by dear Papa in a day when no gentleman and no lady would be seen walking the hundred yards from the main house to the beach in bathing dress. Tradition had clung and now the chalet still housed a number of dressing cubicles, some incredibly complicated folding furniture, two Deauville umbrellas, sand, a few damp bathing suits and quite a lot of wasps.
"Now me on your shoulders, Unca John. Me. Emily's been up for a hun'red, million, billion, trillion, zillion, billion, thousand, schmillion, willion years."
"I have not, Robin. I haven't, I haven't, I haven't!”
"All right," John Burgess shouted. "There's room for you both. Try to swim out here, Bob."
"I can't. You come get me."
"Try, Bob."
"Robin is a scaredy-cat! Robin is a scaredy-cat! Robin is a . . ."
"I am not. Fraulein, make Emily stop teasing me and . . ."
"Come on, Bob. Just try to swim out this far. I won't let anything happen to you . . ."
"Robin is a . . ."
"Fraulein," Mrs. Ames said, looking up from beneath her sunshade, "don't you think it would be nice if you took the children for a little walk in the woods, or possibly up to see their mother?"
"Oh, no, madam," Fraulein said. "The sunshine on the beach is very good for them. On the other side, when I was with the Grafins boys, every summer to the beach at Ostend we went and . . ."
"I see," Mrs. Ames said, and tried to close her ears to the shrieks of the children.
Kathy made her unsteady way down the rustic stairs. She felt terribly self-conscious in this new outfit and more than a little disgruntled. She'd sat alone at the breakfast table for a full hour, nursing cold, unwanted cups of coffee just waiting for Manning! He'd never come. The approach of Elly and Bryan had forced her down here. Now she felt all
"Joseph Sullivan happens to be an author whose work I am occupied in encouraging him in. And I happen to hold a position of some responsibility in a leading publishing . . "
"Come off it, Elly," Bryan said, slapping her across the rear. "You haven't read a book since Raggedy Ann. And when it comes to helping somebody write one—why you can't even speak English."
"Well it just so happens to be true. I don't care that—" she tried to snap her fingers and failed, "—for Joe Sullivan or any other male."
"Not even me?"
"Except you. Oh, Bryan come on. Be nice to me. You're the only person in the whole family who ever understands me or doesn't tell me my slip's showing or . . ."
"It isn't showing now."
"That's because I'm not wearing one. Aren't I a chippy! You're the only one who's ever any fun."
"All right. Beat it while I get dressed."
"Can't I stay? I'll bet you haven't got anything I couldn't find in Gray's Anatomy."
"Well, go read Gray's Anatomy. Or go look at Paul." Bryan opened Paul's door and shoved her through.
Elly was back in a minute.
"Oh Bryan, he's in one of his moods. Why, Bry-an Ames! What darling undies! I think that little checkerboard pattern is too cunning!"
"What's the matter with Paul?"
"Oh, he's just sitting there at that old drawing board in that empty room scratching down a lot of figures. He's wearing that dirty old kind of monk's robe and he hasn't shaved and when I just asked him—and quite pleasantly—what he was doing (not that I really cared) he practically bit me. Oh, Bryan, why do he and Kathy have to be so moody and complicated when you and I aren't one bit complicated at all?"
"Aren't we? Well, come on. Let's go,"
"No trousers this morning, Bryan?"
"Oh. Damn you. Wait a minute."
9: Athletics
The beach at the old Pruitt Place was three miles long and considered one of the finest on the Sound. It was remarkably free of stones and seaweed and the sand was as fine and as white as snow. From the lawn a rustic staircase—somewhat insecure—led to an even more rustic structure built vaguely in the style of a Swiss chalet. Violet referred to this building as a cabana. Lily, more realistically, called it a bath house. It had been put up by dear Papa in a day when no gentleman and no lady would be seen walking the hundred yards from the main house to the beach in bathing dress. Tradition had clung and now the chalet still housed a number of dressing cubicles, some incredibly complicated folding furniture, two Deauville umbrellas, sand, a few damp bathing suits and quite a lot of wasps.
"Now me on your shoulders, Unca John. Me. Emily's been up for a hun'red, million, billion, trillion, zillion, billion, thousand, schmillion, willion years."
"I have not, Robin. I haven't, I haven't, I haven't!”
"All right," John Burgess shouted. "There's room for you both. Try to swim out here, Bob."
"I can't. You come get me."
"Try, Bob."
"Robin is a scaredy-cat! Robin is a scaredy-cat! Robin is a . . ."
"I am not. Fraulein, make Emily stop teasing me and . . ."
"Come on, Bob. Just try to swim out this far. I won't let anything happen to you . . ."
"Robin is a . . ."
"Fraulein," Mrs. Ames said, looking up from beneath her sunshade, "don't you think it would be nice if you took the children for a little walk in the woods, or possibly up to see their mother?"
"Oh, no, madam," Fraulein said. "The sunshine on the beach is very good for them. On the other side, when I was with the Grafins boys, every summer to the beach at Ostend we went and . . ."
"I see," Mrs. Ames said, and tried to close her ears to the shrieks of the children.
Kathy made her unsteady way down the rustic stairs. She felt terribly self-conscious in this new outfit and more than a little disgruntled. She'd sat alone at the breakfast table for a full hour, nursing cold, unwanted cups of coffee just waiting for Manning! He'd never come. The approach of Elly and Bryan had forced her down here. Now she felt all
Similar Books
