carrying a battered suitcase for a thin, smiling, gap-toothed woman. Spikes of red hair poked out from under her drooping hat. The frayed lining of her threadbare coat reached the heels of her shoes, which were so worn down on the sides she stood bowlegged.
“Tony, Tina, this is Mineola Potts,” Mr. Banks said.
Mineola Potts smiled widely at the twins, revealing even more toothless gaps; then she tiptoed across the room and peeked around the open kitchen door.
“Boo!” she said.
The twittering and giggling from the kitchen was even louder than the singing and chopping had been. Mr. Banks had to shout to make himself heard.
“Where’s Mrs. Carillon? I’ve got a stack of bills here that will send us all to the poorhouse. She must have bought out every store in town.”
“She’s getting dressed,” Tina said. “Besides, can’t that wait until tomorrow? We’re supposed to be celebrating.”
“Help us count, Mr. Banks,” Tony said, putting what he hoped was the last plate on the table.
“Don’t they teach you anything in that school?” The words were the same, but Mr. Banks did not seem to be as grumpy as usual. “All right, I’ll help you count. Tell me who’s coming.”
“Mrs. Carillon, Tina and me, and two of our friends, you and Mineola Potts, and Augie Kunkel and his Aunt Martha.”
“That makes ten,” Mr. Banks said.
“I counted nine.”
“Ten,” Mr. Banks insisted. “You forgot Mrs. Baker.”
“Mrs. Baker? Then who’s going to serve?”
“We can serve ourselves. Mrs. Baker has worked long and hard for you. She’s as much a member of this family as anybody here.”
“Why, Mr. Banks, that’s socialism!”
“That’s enough of your sass, young man. . . .”
Luckily for Tony, the doorbell rang.
“You must have the wrong apartment,” Mr. Banks said curtly to the two young men at the door. One had long hair flowing from a beaded headband and a fringed beard that matched his fringed suede jacket. The other had a large puff of black hair and wore a serape and sandals.
“Harry! Joel!” Tina ran to the door. “These are our friends, Mr. Banks.”
Mr. Banks was so dumbfounded that he was still holding the door open when Augie Kunkel and Aunt Martha arrived.
Aunt Martha was a short, hefty woman with close-cropped white hair. She, too, was wearing a fringed suede jacket.
“Glad to meet you,” she said, grabbing Mr. Banks’ hand and cracking every bone in his fingers.
The New Mrs. Carillon
Augie Kunkel introduced Aunt Martha to Tina, and Tina introduced everybody to everybody else. They all sat down, except Augie Kunkel, who stood in the center of the room waiting for Mrs. Carillon to appear. He was holding a bouquet of yellow roses.
“Yellow roses,” remarked Mr. Banks. “I haven’t seen anything but violets and purple anemones in this house since she moved in.”
“Mrs. Carillon!” Tina gasped. Eyes popped and jaws dropped in amazement. A stunned silence greeted Mrs. Carillon as she circled the room welcoming her guests.
“It’s so good to see you again, Joel. Harry,” she said. “And you must be Aunt Martha.”
Mrs. Carillon’s hair was short and brown and softly waved. She was wearing an elegantly tailored, beige wool dress, a string of pearls, and brown calf shoes.
“Augie, how thoughtful. Yellow roses, my favorite 38 flower.”
“You look b-b-beautiful.”
Mr. Banks thought so, too. “I must say, if that’s what you spent all that money on, it was worth it.”
“Mrs. Carillon!” Mineola Potts dashed out of the kitchen into the arms of her old cellmate.
“Dinner’s ready,” Mrs. Baker announced. She herded the guests to the lavishly spread table and took her seat among them.
Mr. Banks carved the turkey; the plates were passed and filled high to overflowing; and Mrs. Carillon asked Augie Kunkel to say grace.
Augie Kunkel didn’t know how to say grace. He just named the dishes and let the delicious smells inspire the proper
“Tony, Tina, this is Mineola Potts,” Mr. Banks said.
Mineola Potts smiled widely at the twins, revealing even more toothless gaps; then she tiptoed across the room and peeked around the open kitchen door.
“Boo!” she said.
The twittering and giggling from the kitchen was even louder than the singing and chopping had been. Mr. Banks had to shout to make himself heard.
“Where’s Mrs. Carillon? I’ve got a stack of bills here that will send us all to the poorhouse. She must have bought out every store in town.”
“She’s getting dressed,” Tina said. “Besides, can’t that wait until tomorrow? We’re supposed to be celebrating.”
“Help us count, Mr. Banks,” Tony said, putting what he hoped was the last plate on the table.
“Don’t they teach you anything in that school?” The words were the same, but Mr. Banks did not seem to be as grumpy as usual. “All right, I’ll help you count. Tell me who’s coming.”
“Mrs. Carillon, Tina and me, and two of our friends, you and Mineola Potts, and Augie Kunkel and his Aunt Martha.”
“That makes ten,” Mr. Banks said.
“I counted nine.”
“Ten,” Mr. Banks insisted. “You forgot Mrs. Baker.”
“Mrs. Baker? Then who’s going to serve?”
“We can serve ourselves. Mrs. Baker has worked long and hard for you. She’s as much a member of this family as anybody here.”
“Why, Mr. Banks, that’s socialism!”
“That’s enough of your sass, young man. . . .”
Luckily for Tony, the doorbell rang.
“You must have the wrong apartment,” Mr. Banks said curtly to the two young men at the door. One had long hair flowing from a beaded headband and a fringed beard that matched his fringed suede jacket. The other had a large puff of black hair and wore a serape and sandals.
“Harry! Joel!” Tina ran to the door. “These are our friends, Mr. Banks.”
Mr. Banks was so dumbfounded that he was still holding the door open when Augie Kunkel and Aunt Martha arrived.
Aunt Martha was a short, hefty woman with close-cropped white hair. She, too, was wearing a fringed suede jacket.
“Glad to meet you,” she said, grabbing Mr. Banks’ hand and cracking every bone in his fingers.
The New Mrs. Carillon
Augie Kunkel introduced Aunt Martha to Tina, and Tina introduced everybody to everybody else. They all sat down, except Augie Kunkel, who stood in the center of the room waiting for Mrs. Carillon to appear. He was holding a bouquet of yellow roses.
“Yellow roses,” remarked Mr. Banks. “I haven’t seen anything but violets and purple anemones in this house since she moved in.”
“Mrs. Carillon!” Tina gasped. Eyes popped and jaws dropped in amazement. A stunned silence greeted Mrs. Carillon as she circled the room welcoming her guests.
“It’s so good to see you again, Joel. Harry,” she said. “And you must be Aunt Martha.”
Mrs. Carillon’s hair was short and brown and softly waved. She was wearing an elegantly tailored, beige wool dress, a string of pearls, and brown calf shoes.
“Augie, how thoughtful. Yellow roses, my favorite 38 flower.”
“You look b-b-beautiful.”
Mr. Banks thought so, too. “I must say, if that’s what you spent all that money on, it was worth it.”
“Mrs. Carillon!” Mineola Potts dashed out of the kitchen into the arms of her old cellmate.
“Dinner’s ready,” Mrs. Baker announced. She herded the guests to the lavishly spread table and took her seat among them.
Mr. Banks carved the turkey; the plates were passed and filled high to overflowing; and Mrs. Carillon asked Augie Kunkel to say grace.
Augie Kunkel didn’t know how to say grace. He just named the dishes and let the delicious smells inspire the proper
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