reverence:
Patate douce, dindonneau truffée,
airelles en couronne, petits oignons,
pointes d’asperges au beurre,
purée de marrons.
“Amen,” said Mr. Banks, who didn’t understand French; and the eating and the chatting and the celebrating began.
The Eating and the Chatting
Tina asked Mineola Potts to describe every horrible detail of her miserable life in the “pest-hole”; and Mrs. Carillon told Aunt Martha how sorry she was that her house was falling down around her ears.
“Delicious,” said Mr. Banks, tasting the turkey. Mrs. Baker beamed.
Aunt Martha replied that it was just awful, because now she would have to move in with Augie. “Not that I’m not fond of Augie, I am; but he doesn’t have room for my work.”
“Aunt Martha is an artist,” Augie Kunkel explained.
“Delicious,” said Mr. Banks, tasting the stuffing.
Joel said he understood Aunt Martha’s problem very well, for they had just lost the lease to their loft and would soon be without a place to work, too.
“Rats as big as cats,” Mineola Potts said to wide-eyed Tina.
“Do you paint in oils or watercolors?” Harry asked Aunt Martha, more in politeness than interest.
“Who do you think I am, Grandma Moses?” she replied. “Kinetic sculpture, that’s what I do. You know, where everything moves. . . .”
“But the people were nice,” Mineola Potts said. “That is, all but one. We avoided her like the plague. In for child-beating, she was; name of Anna Oglethorpe.”
“Miss Anna Oglethorpe! In jail?” exclaimed Mrs. Carillon.
Mr. Banks looked up from his plate. “Not again?”
“No, not again,” Mrs. Carillon had little sympathy for her former governess. “Miss Anna Oglethorpe can stay right where she is.” 39
“I had a show a few years back,” Aunt Martha said, “but, just my luck, it opened the very day of the blackout. No electricity. All my pieces are motor-driven, so nothing worked.”
Mr. Banks said “delicious” five more times, while Joel, Harry, and Aunt Martha discussed techniques and consoled each other over their loss of working space.
“I have a wonderful idea,” Mrs. Carillon said to the artists. “My big old house. There’s plenty of living room and working room there for all of you. That is, if you don’t mind overlooking a soup factory.”
“Sounds great,” Joel said, “but I don’t think we could afford it.”
“The house is a gift—to the three of you. It’s little enough for what you did for the twins and me,” Mrs. Carillon said to Joel and Harry, then turned to Aunt Martha, “and for all you’ve done for Augie. Mr. Banks, would you draw up the papers tomorrow?”
Tina and Tony cringed, expecting Mr. Banks to spoil the party with a loud “No!” They couldn’t believe that he said, “Of course, fine idea.” And he was smiling.
“Well, Miss Tinglehof, it seems we’re partners,” Harry said.
“Who’s Miss Tinglehof?” Tina asked, looking around the table.
“That’s me, Martha Tinglehof.” Aunt Martha raised her glass of wine. “To Tietelbaum, Tinglehof, and Wells. That’s alphabetical.”
“Who’s Tietelbaum? Who’s Wells?”
“Harry Tietelbaum.”
“Joel Wells.”
The three artists clinked glasses.
“Artists?” Mr. Banks said. “You sound more like a law firm.” He poured a little wine into the twins’ glasses.
“Maybe that’s what I’ll be, a lawyer,” Tony said, in appreciation of Mr. Banks’ sudden good humor; but Tina still eyed his cheerfulness with suspicion.
The Celebrating
Mr. Banks returned to the head of the table and clinked a knife against his wineglass.
“As most of you know,” he began when he had everyone’s attention, “I have served Mrs. Carillon as trustee for many years, and, in return, was always warmly welcomed as a friend.
“Today, I am pleased to announce, I am here at this festive occasion, not only as trustee and friend, but as a proud and happy husband.”
Tina slumped down in her chair. Tony
Patate douce, dindonneau truffée,
airelles en couronne, petits oignons,
pointes d’asperges au beurre,
purée de marrons.
“Amen,” said Mr. Banks, who didn’t understand French; and the eating and the chatting and the celebrating began.
The Eating and the Chatting
Tina asked Mineola Potts to describe every horrible detail of her miserable life in the “pest-hole”; and Mrs. Carillon told Aunt Martha how sorry she was that her house was falling down around her ears.
“Delicious,” said Mr. Banks, tasting the turkey. Mrs. Baker beamed.
Aunt Martha replied that it was just awful, because now she would have to move in with Augie. “Not that I’m not fond of Augie, I am; but he doesn’t have room for my work.”
“Aunt Martha is an artist,” Augie Kunkel explained.
“Delicious,” said Mr. Banks, tasting the stuffing.
Joel said he understood Aunt Martha’s problem very well, for they had just lost the lease to their loft and would soon be without a place to work, too.
“Rats as big as cats,” Mineola Potts said to wide-eyed Tina.
“Do you paint in oils or watercolors?” Harry asked Aunt Martha, more in politeness than interest.
“Who do you think I am, Grandma Moses?” she replied. “Kinetic sculpture, that’s what I do. You know, where everything moves. . . .”
“But the people were nice,” Mineola Potts said. “That is, all but one. We avoided her like the plague. In for child-beating, she was; name of Anna Oglethorpe.”
“Miss Anna Oglethorpe! In jail?” exclaimed Mrs. Carillon.
Mr. Banks looked up from his plate. “Not again?”
“No, not again,” Mrs. Carillon had little sympathy for her former governess. “Miss Anna Oglethorpe can stay right where she is.” 39
“I had a show a few years back,” Aunt Martha said, “but, just my luck, it opened the very day of the blackout. No electricity. All my pieces are motor-driven, so nothing worked.”
Mr. Banks said “delicious” five more times, while Joel, Harry, and Aunt Martha discussed techniques and consoled each other over their loss of working space.
“I have a wonderful idea,” Mrs. Carillon said to the artists. “My big old house. There’s plenty of living room and working room there for all of you. That is, if you don’t mind overlooking a soup factory.”
“Sounds great,” Joel said, “but I don’t think we could afford it.”
“The house is a gift—to the three of you. It’s little enough for what you did for the twins and me,” Mrs. Carillon said to Joel and Harry, then turned to Aunt Martha, “and for all you’ve done for Augie. Mr. Banks, would you draw up the papers tomorrow?”
Tina and Tony cringed, expecting Mr. Banks to spoil the party with a loud “No!” They couldn’t believe that he said, “Of course, fine idea.” And he was smiling.
“Well, Miss Tinglehof, it seems we’re partners,” Harry said.
“Who’s Miss Tinglehof?” Tina asked, looking around the table.
“That’s me, Martha Tinglehof.” Aunt Martha raised her glass of wine. “To Tietelbaum, Tinglehof, and Wells. That’s alphabetical.”
“Who’s Tietelbaum? Who’s Wells?”
“Harry Tietelbaum.”
“Joel Wells.”
The three artists clinked glasses.
“Artists?” Mr. Banks said. “You sound more like a law firm.” He poured a little wine into the twins’ glasses.
“Maybe that’s what I’ll be, a lawyer,” Tony said, in appreciation of Mr. Banks’ sudden good humor; but Tina still eyed his cheerfulness with suspicion.
The Celebrating
Mr. Banks returned to the head of the table and clinked a knife against his wineglass.
“As most of you know,” he began when he had everyone’s attention, “I have served Mrs. Carillon as trustee for many years, and, in return, was always warmly welcomed as a friend.
“Today, I am pleased to announce, I am here at this festive occasion, not only as trustee and friend, but as a proud and happy husband.”
Tina slumped down in her chair. Tony
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