Herman Teppis.
“You disagree? What do you know? You’re a baby.” But I thought I understood what went on in him, the fear that he might be wrong chewing at the other fear he might make a fool of himself by considering Eitel again. “Now listen, you,” he started to say, but we were interrupted.
“Good evening, daddy,” a woman said.
“Lottie,” Teppis said moistly, and embraced her. “Why didn’t you call me?” he asked. “Ten o’clock this morning and no call from you.”
“I had to miss it today,” said Lottie Munshin. “I was packing for the trip.”
Teppis began to ask her about his grandchildren, turning his back almost entirely on me. While they spoke I watched Carlyle Munshin’s wife with interest. She was one of those women who are middle-aged too soon, her skin burned into the colors of false health. Thin, nervous, her face was screwed tight, and in those moments when she relaxed, the lines around her forehead and mouth were exaggerated, for the sun had not touched them. Pale haggard eyes looked out from sun-reddened lids. She was wearing an expensive dress but had only succeeded in making it look dowdy. The bones of herchest stood out, and a sort of ruffle fluttered on her freckled skin with a parched rustling movement like a spinster’s parlor curtains. “I was delayed getting here,” she said to her father in so pinched a voice I had the impression her throat was tight. “You see, Doxy was littering today. You know Doxy?”
“It’s one of the mutts?” Teppis asked uncomfortably.
“She took the state-wide blue ribbon for her class,” Lottie Munshin said. “Don’t you remember?”
“Well, that’s good.” Teppis coughed. “Now, why don’t you leave those dogs out of your mind for a couple of weeks, and you take a good vacation. You relax. You have a good time with Collie.”
“I can’t leave them for two weeks,” she said with something like panic. “Salty litters in the next ten days, and we have to start training Blitzen and Nod for the trials.”
“Well, that’s fine,” Teppis said vaguely. “Now, there’s a fellow I got to see, so I’ll leave you in the company of this young man. You’ll enjoy talking to him. And Lottie, you remember,” he said, “there’s more important things than those dogs.”
I watched him walk away, nodding his head to the people who swarmed to greet him, carrying them one at a time like parasite fish. One couple even moved off the dance floor and came hurrying toward him.
“Do you like dogs?” Lottie Munshin asked me. She gave a short rough laugh for punctuation, and looked at me with her head cocked to one side.
I made the mistake of saying, “You breed them, don’t you?”
She replied; she replied at length; she insisted on going into details which led into other details, she was a fanatic, and I stood listening to her, trying to find the little girl who had grown into this woman. “Collie and I have the best ranch within the county limits of the capital,” she said in that pinched voice, “although of course keeping it up devolves upon me. It’s quite a concern, I can tell you. I’m up at six every morning.”
“You keep an early schedule,” I offered.
“Early to bed. I like to be up with the sun. With such hours everybody could keep themselves in fine condition. You’re young now, but you should take care of yourself. People should follow the same hours animals do, and they would have the natural health of an animal.”
Over her shoulder I could see the dance floor and the swimming pool, and I was pulled between my desire to quit her for people who were more interesting, and my reluctance to leave her alone. While she spoke, her bony fingers plucked at her chin. “I’ve got a green thumb,” she said. “It’s an unusual combination. I breed dogs and things grow under my thumb. Sometimes I think my father must have been meant to be a farmer because where else could it have developed in me?”
“Oh,
“You disagree? What do you know? You’re a baby.” But I thought I understood what went on in him, the fear that he might be wrong chewing at the other fear he might make a fool of himself by considering Eitel again. “Now listen, you,” he started to say, but we were interrupted.
“Good evening, daddy,” a woman said.
“Lottie,” Teppis said moistly, and embraced her. “Why didn’t you call me?” he asked. “Ten o’clock this morning and no call from you.”
“I had to miss it today,” said Lottie Munshin. “I was packing for the trip.”
Teppis began to ask her about his grandchildren, turning his back almost entirely on me. While they spoke I watched Carlyle Munshin’s wife with interest. She was one of those women who are middle-aged too soon, her skin burned into the colors of false health. Thin, nervous, her face was screwed tight, and in those moments when she relaxed, the lines around her forehead and mouth were exaggerated, for the sun had not touched them. Pale haggard eyes looked out from sun-reddened lids. She was wearing an expensive dress but had only succeeded in making it look dowdy. The bones of herchest stood out, and a sort of ruffle fluttered on her freckled skin with a parched rustling movement like a spinster’s parlor curtains. “I was delayed getting here,” she said to her father in so pinched a voice I had the impression her throat was tight. “You see, Doxy was littering today. You know Doxy?”
“It’s one of the mutts?” Teppis asked uncomfortably.
“She took the state-wide blue ribbon for her class,” Lottie Munshin said. “Don’t you remember?”
“Well, that’s good.” Teppis coughed. “Now, why don’t you leave those dogs out of your mind for a couple of weeks, and you take a good vacation. You relax. You have a good time with Collie.”
“I can’t leave them for two weeks,” she said with something like panic. “Salty litters in the next ten days, and we have to start training Blitzen and Nod for the trials.”
“Well, that’s fine,” Teppis said vaguely. “Now, there’s a fellow I got to see, so I’ll leave you in the company of this young man. You’ll enjoy talking to him. And Lottie, you remember,” he said, “there’s more important things than those dogs.”
I watched him walk away, nodding his head to the people who swarmed to greet him, carrying them one at a time like parasite fish. One couple even moved off the dance floor and came hurrying toward him.
“Do you like dogs?” Lottie Munshin asked me. She gave a short rough laugh for punctuation, and looked at me with her head cocked to one side.
I made the mistake of saying, “You breed them, don’t you?”
She replied; she replied at length; she insisted on going into details which led into other details, she was a fanatic, and I stood listening to her, trying to find the little girl who had grown into this woman. “Collie and I have the best ranch within the county limits of the capital,” she said in that pinched voice, “although of course keeping it up devolves upon me. It’s quite a concern, I can tell you. I’m up at six every morning.”
“You keep an early schedule,” I offered.
“Early to bed. I like to be up with the sun. With such hours everybody could keep themselves in fine condition. You’re young now, but you should take care of yourself. People should follow the same hours animals do, and they would have the natural health of an animal.”
Over her shoulder I could see the dance floor and the swimming pool, and I was pulled between my desire to quit her for people who were more interesting, and my reluctance to leave her alone. While she spoke, her bony fingers plucked at her chin. “I’ve got a green thumb,” she said. “It’s an unusual combination. I breed dogs and things grow under my thumb. Sometimes I think my father must have been meant to be a farmer because where else could it have developed in me?”
“Oh,
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