He’s working round the cement plate—the kind a nurseryman puts in to patch up a sick tree, d’you know what I mean?”
“I think so,” Mrs. Norris said.
“It shines like a mouthful of teeth in the night.”
“He’s just come out of the park,” Mrs. Norris said, and herself got out of Tom’s car.
“You’re a brave woman,” said Tom.
“Take care yourself, lad, and don’t lose him, whatever you do.”
“Up the rebels!” Tom cried, and gave Sophie’s starter a kick.
As the car ahead pulled out, Tom pulled out, and Mrs. Norris watched the one of them vanish after the other in the night’s darkness. She stood by the tree she had begun to consider a friend and waited to be sure no one was in pursuit of them in a car. She crossed the street and entered the park at the first gate, and then took up a position there from which she could watch the patched tree near the fountain.
16
W HERE, TOM WONDERED, WOULD a man be going with a suitcase at this hour of the night that he could be followed? Would the Frenchman, having challenged the boss, be getting cold feet now himself? The truth was he wasn’t behaving at all like a man who expected to keep an appointment at dawn … unless it was the pistols he had packed in the suitcase, and was off right now to await the fatal rendezvous. In that case all the hocus-pocus with the tree and the balusters was his own way of putting affairs in order before going into the fight. There were some people, sure, who had no use for banks. He knew people at home, in fact, who didn’t even trust the post office.
But the Frenchman drove over the bridge with nary a puff of recognition and into Washington again. This time he began working north of M Street. Tom kept on his tail though he wiggled and waggled it, but was very grateful when the route straightened out on Sixteenth Street. He settled Sophie at a steady gait, and began to imagine a chase like this in the daylight: he would need a police escort then to ignore the stop-lights, and in his mind’s eye he could see the people leaping out of his way and turning after him to gawk in envy. Ah, but wasn’t this the country! The only thing you could scatter in his home town in Ireland was a flight of crows.
The realization suddenly came to him that he was a long way from the heart of Washington, and getting farther all the time. It would be a devil of a note if the Frenchman was skipping the country, on his way now maybe to the Canadian border—and Tom with a dollar and fifty cents in his pocket.
Tom pressed his foot down on the accelerator, pushing Sophie up the hill a little faster because the car he followed was now going over the crest. When Tom reached the top himself, there was not a car in sight the whole long street before him.
“Holy, holy, holy,” he said aloud, going slowly down the other side that he might peer both ways up cross streets. The Frenchman had vanished, automobile, suitcase and all. “Oh, Sophie, what’ll we tell her at all?”
Tom slowly circled the streets, but nowhere did he find the car he had been following. He turned his own car back toward the city and meekly obeyed every traffic light. He longed now to find the boss, which was his first quest anyway, and before facing up to Mrs. Norris, for many a time had the congressman rescued him from a well-earned folly.
There was no one home, he was sure, driving up. And in the kitchen the only response he got from the cat was a few angry whacks in the air of her tail and the burying of her head into another part of the cushion.
“You’re fortunate all that’s disturbed is your sleep,” he said.
But where was the boss?
A plan had been knocking around in the back of his head for the last few blocks home: if the boss had a girlfriend who got him into this mess, sure, the least she could do now was share the anxiety. And the most she could do just possibly, was tell him where the boss was.
“Be bold,” he told himself in the words of an
“I think so,” Mrs. Norris said.
“It shines like a mouthful of teeth in the night.”
“He’s just come out of the park,” Mrs. Norris said, and herself got out of Tom’s car.
“You’re a brave woman,” said Tom.
“Take care yourself, lad, and don’t lose him, whatever you do.”
“Up the rebels!” Tom cried, and gave Sophie’s starter a kick.
As the car ahead pulled out, Tom pulled out, and Mrs. Norris watched the one of them vanish after the other in the night’s darkness. She stood by the tree she had begun to consider a friend and waited to be sure no one was in pursuit of them in a car. She crossed the street and entered the park at the first gate, and then took up a position there from which she could watch the patched tree near the fountain.
16
W HERE, TOM WONDERED, WOULD a man be going with a suitcase at this hour of the night that he could be followed? Would the Frenchman, having challenged the boss, be getting cold feet now himself? The truth was he wasn’t behaving at all like a man who expected to keep an appointment at dawn … unless it was the pistols he had packed in the suitcase, and was off right now to await the fatal rendezvous. In that case all the hocus-pocus with the tree and the balusters was his own way of putting affairs in order before going into the fight. There were some people, sure, who had no use for banks. He knew people at home, in fact, who didn’t even trust the post office.
But the Frenchman drove over the bridge with nary a puff of recognition and into Washington again. This time he began working north of M Street. Tom kept on his tail though he wiggled and waggled it, but was very grateful when the route straightened out on Sixteenth Street. He settled Sophie at a steady gait, and began to imagine a chase like this in the daylight: he would need a police escort then to ignore the stop-lights, and in his mind’s eye he could see the people leaping out of his way and turning after him to gawk in envy. Ah, but wasn’t this the country! The only thing you could scatter in his home town in Ireland was a flight of crows.
The realization suddenly came to him that he was a long way from the heart of Washington, and getting farther all the time. It would be a devil of a note if the Frenchman was skipping the country, on his way now maybe to the Canadian border—and Tom with a dollar and fifty cents in his pocket.
Tom pressed his foot down on the accelerator, pushing Sophie up the hill a little faster because the car he followed was now going over the crest. When Tom reached the top himself, there was not a car in sight the whole long street before him.
“Holy, holy, holy,” he said aloud, going slowly down the other side that he might peer both ways up cross streets. The Frenchman had vanished, automobile, suitcase and all. “Oh, Sophie, what’ll we tell her at all?”
Tom slowly circled the streets, but nowhere did he find the car he had been following. He turned his own car back toward the city and meekly obeyed every traffic light. He longed now to find the boss, which was his first quest anyway, and before facing up to Mrs. Norris, for many a time had the congressman rescued him from a well-earned folly.
There was no one home, he was sure, driving up. And in the kitchen the only response he got from the cat was a few angry whacks in the air of her tail and the burying of her head into another part of the cushion.
“You’re fortunate all that’s disturbed is your sleep,” he said.
But where was the boss?
A plan had been knocking around in the back of his head for the last few blocks home: if the boss had a girlfriend who got him into this mess, sure, the least she could do now was share the anxiety. And the most she could do just possibly, was tell him where the boss was.
“Be bold,” he told himself in the words of an
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