drive.
But once he was south of Jersey he had the feeling that he had lost track of who he was. There didn’t seem to be any connection between this joker in the wagon and all the other Parker Barnums. The real Parker Barnums. This joker seemed more involved with all the imaginary ones; the one who did make the Yankees, and the one who could put up such a hellof a sword fight on the stone steps of the castle leading to the private quarters of the princess, and the one who could make himself invisible at will, and the one who could dance like Astaire, and the one who was a jet pilot, and the one who was a spy.
So he looked at this one in the motel mirrors, and when he drove through the small towns there would always be a girl who, from the back, looked like Suzie. The Italian hairdo. And … not chunky … but … well … solid.
He arrived at the Hutchinson at one-thirty on Friday afternoon. It was a sad-looking operation. There were some sad-ball people wandering around. If it turned out to be as bad as it looked at this stage, there was nothing to keep him here. He could kiss the five hundred goodbye and drive on down to Acapulco. After he had unpacked in the drab room, he changed and went out to see what was going on.
Two women had just arrived in a pink-and-blue Buick hard-top convertible, with Ohio plates. Both were on the shady side of sixty and both wore cotton print dresses, and both wore straw sun hats shaped exactly like baseball caps. The driver, the larger of the two, bore a striking facial resemblance to Casey Stengel, and when she walked toward the hotel doorway, it was ole Case again, trudging out to the mound. Her companion was a smaller woman, timid-looking, and her hat was too big for her. She trotted along after the big one.
About twenty minutes after they arrived, Park Barnum was in the central patio talking to a nice guy, a New Orleans architect named John Kemp, when the two women who had arrived in the Buick came bearing down on them, the big one in the lead. They had changed to fresh cotton print dresses, but they still wore the hats.
The big one stuck her hand out and said, “I’m Mrs. McCaffrey, Hildabeth McCaffrey from Elmira, Ohio. And this here is my good friend, Mrs. Winkler, Dotsy Winkler, from the same place.”
“John Kemp.”
“Parker Barnum.”
“Pleased to know you,” she said. Dotsy bobbed her shy head in smiling agreement. “Dotsy thinks this was a real nutty thing for us to do, coming down here like this, but like I told her, we could sit up there in Elmira all summer and rot and fan ourselves and drink a couple of barrels of iced tea, andwho would care. I’ve been widowed four years now. Mr. McCaffrey was in the building supply business. I try to take a different kind of vacation every summer. This is new to Dotsy, though. She’s only been widowed a year and a half. Her Bert had three hardware stores in the county and a feed mill. We got enough to do with, and the children are grown and all, so I found the ad and told her this was what we were going to do. She said it was crazy and I said why and she said because we couldn’t paint a lick and I said how did we know if we didn’t try. She shoulda seen me get talked into those hula lessons out to Hawaii last summer. Seems like the older I get the more foolish I get. But, like I say, if it’s a second childhood, you might as well just settle down and enjoy it. To tell the truth, I didn’t get half so much enjoyment out of the first one. Sooner or later Dotsy will get in the spirit of the thing.” She turned and beamed proudly at Dotsy, who bobbed her head and blushed.
“Now,” said Mrs. McCaffrey, “we’re taking a little tour of this place.” She scowled. “It certainly is a ratty old place, isn’t it? We were talking to a man named Torrigan. He seems to be one of the teachers. I don’t think he’s all right in the head. Let me see now, you’re John Kemp and you’re Parker Barnum. There’s
But once he was south of Jersey he had the feeling that he had lost track of who he was. There didn’t seem to be any connection between this joker in the wagon and all the other Parker Barnums. The real Parker Barnums. This joker seemed more involved with all the imaginary ones; the one who did make the Yankees, and the one who could put up such a hellof a sword fight on the stone steps of the castle leading to the private quarters of the princess, and the one who could make himself invisible at will, and the one who could dance like Astaire, and the one who was a jet pilot, and the one who was a spy.
So he looked at this one in the motel mirrors, and when he drove through the small towns there would always be a girl who, from the back, looked like Suzie. The Italian hairdo. And … not chunky … but … well … solid.
He arrived at the Hutchinson at one-thirty on Friday afternoon. It was a sad-looking operation. There were some sad-ball people wandering around. If it turned out to be as bad as it looked at this stage, there was nothing to keep him here. He could kiss the five hundred goodbye and drive on down to Acapulco. After he had unpacked in the drab room, he changed and went out to see what was going on.
Two women had just arrived in a pink-and-blue Buick hard-top convertible, with Ohio plates. Both were on the shady side of sixty and both wore cotton print dresses, and both wore straw sun hats shaped exactly like baseball caps. The driver, the larger of the two, bore a striking facial resemblance to Casey Stengel, and when she walked toward the hotel doorway, it was ole Case again, trudging out to the mound. Her companion was a smaller woman, timid-looking, and her hat was too big for her. She trotted along after the big one.
About twenty minutes after they arrived, Park Barnum was in the central patio talking to a nice guy, a New Orleans architect named John Kemp, when the two women who had arrived in the Buick came bearing down on them, the big one in the lead. They had changed to fresh cotton print dresses, but they still wore the hats.
The big one stuck her hand out and said, “I’m Mrs. McCaffrey, Hildabeth McCaffrey from Elmira, Ohio. And this here is my good friend, Mrs. Winkler, Dotsy Winkler, from the same place.”
“John Kemp.”
“Parker Barnum.”
“Pleased to know you,” she said. Dotsy bobbed her shy head in smiling agreement. “Dotsy thinks this was a real nutty thing for us to do, coming down here like this, but like I told her, we could sit up there in Elmira all summer and rot and fan ourselves and drink a couple of barrels of iced tea, andwho would care. I’ve been widowed four years now. Mr. McCaffrey was in the building supply business. I try to take a different kind of vacation every summer. This is new to Dotsy, though. She’s only been widowed a year and a half. Her Bert had three hardware stores in the county and a feed mill. We got enough to do with, and the children are grown and all, so I found the ad and told her this was what we were going to do. She said it was crazy and I said why and she said because we couldn’t paint a lick and I said how did we know if we didn’t try. She shoulda seen me get talked into those hula lessons out to Hawaii last summer. Seems like the older I get the more foolish I get. But, like I say, if it’s a second childhood, you might as well just settle down and enjoy it. To tell the truth, I didn’t get half so much enjoyment out of the first one. Sooner or later Dotsy will get in the spirit of the thing.” She turned and beamed proudly at Dotsy, who bobbed her head and blushed.
“Now,” said Mrs. McCaffrey, “we’re taking a little tour of this place.” She scowled. “It certainly is a ratty old place, isn’t it? We were talking to a man named Torrigan. He seems to be one of the teachers. I don’t think he’s all right in the head. Let me see now, you’re John Kemp and you’re Parker Barnum. There’s
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