'Reasonably sure, yeah,' he said. 'And absolutely sure that if he isn't at that point yet, I am. It's what I think he oughta be doing.
Getting started on making a life in the real world for himself. He's a talented lad. He works hard. He should have a good life. He should have a nice family, like I've got. Good wife, like mine; a few kids, even though they don't always eat what their pretty mother works so hard to make for dinner every night so they'll be healthy, grow up to be big and strong.'
Timmy reset his scowl and hugged himself. 'Don't like fish,' he said.
Then he thought about it further and decided to speak louder. 'Hate fish. Wanna leave the table.'
'Why, Timmy,' Mercy said, 'that's an excellent idea. You get out of your chair right this very minute and march yourself straight upstairs to your room. And get undressed and put your pajamas on and get into bed, and you know what you will've done then?'
'No,' Timmy said. Emily smirked delightedly. Donna gazed into space.
Now and then she patted her right hand on the tray of her highchair.
'You will've put yourself to bed without any supper,' Mercy said.
'You'll've saved me and Daddy all the trouble of punishing you, which we really don't like to do. Only you don't behave.
But this time even though you're making us angry, acting like a perfect little wretch, you're also saving us the worry about what we're going to have to do with you. You've decided what the penalty should be for being a little stinker at the dinner table.'
'No,' Timmy said. 'Not gonna do that.' Emily giggled a little.
'In fact,' Hilliard said, you' ll punished yourself more, I think, harder, than your mother and I were thinking would probably be enough to teach you a lesson we think you need to learn. What did you have in mind, Mercy, to make Tim see the error of his ways?'
'Well,' Mercy said, 'to tell you the truth, I hadn't decided. I was wavering between using the pliers to pull out his toenails and setting his hair on fire.'
Emily giggled exuberantly. 'You shut up, Emmy,' Timmy said.
'You know, Timmy,' Hilliard said, 'until you just made things worse by talking like that to your sister, I was about to say I thought what your mother just said sounded a little severe. But now you've made me unsure.' He sighed. 'I guess I really don't know what to do to you.'
Timmy looked apprehensive.
The transition from the stage of Timmy's disobedience to imminence of his actual punishment made Emily uneasy. She became solemn, pursing her lips as she began to pity Timmy. Donna began to shake her head slowly back and forth but her pupils remained fixed on the same point in space.
'How about,' Mercy said, 'how about we tell him that he has to do what he said he was going to do, put himself to bed without any supper. I thought that was pretty good. But so he doesn't get the idea he's going to be the one from now on who decides what it's going to cost him to misbehave, we also yank his TV privileges for, oh say, about two weeks?'
Emily looked both absorbed and horrified.
'Too much, I would say, to do both,' Hilliard said. 'But it wouldn't be enough if we just did one of them. What I would say I'm probably leaning to right now would be either no TV for a full month or else your no-TV-for-two- weeks plus no allowance, either.'
'Either of those sounds about right to me,' Mercy said. 'Why don't you decide?'
Emily had to squirm to deal with the suspense.
'Okay, I will,' Hilliard said. 'But it's going to be hard and take me awhile. You know how I hate to punish people. At least let me finish my dinner here, 'fore this excellent fish gets all cold.'
'Okay,' Mercy said, returning to her dinner, 'I may even finish my own.
We've both been so busy here Emmy's really the only one who's had time enough to eat and had all her dinner. She's waiting on us for dessert.
Which of course I'm assuming you agree there'll only be three of those at the table tonight.'
Timmy sank down still lower in his chair and looked morose. He sneaked glances at his father and looked like he might cry.
'Oh, that goes without saying,' Hilliard said.
'Unless, of course,' Mercy said, 'when you and I finish up here and I ask Emmy to help me take the dishes to the sink, it should turn out there were four clean plates to pick up, instead of only three and one still with food on it.'
'You mean then I might not have to do it?' Hilliard said. 'Not punish anybody? Well, that certainly would be better, lots more pleasant, if there were four clean plates. But there'd have to be an apology, too.
I think. Two apologies in fact. One to you, for being naughty, and one to Emmy, for being rude. Then I'd probably go along.'
Timmy hesitated. He frowned deeply. Emily's face now displayed immense sympathy and hope. She urged him with her eyes. Timmy looked at her. Then he looked at his father. 'I'm sorry,' he said.
'Oh, not to me,' Hilliard said. 'You committed your offenses against your mother and sister. You have to make your apologies to them. And then you have to eat your fish.'
Timmy told his mother he was sorry, and obviously meant it. She smiled at him and tousled his hair. He told his sister he was sorry, less sincerely. She showed she felt much better by sticking out her tongue at him. 'Emmy,' Hilliard said, 'don't think you need to start now.'
Emmy looked flustered and cast her eyes down. Timmy picked up his fork and began to eat his dinner. 'I still hate fish, though,' he said, thoughtfully. At first Mercy tried hard not to laugh, but Hilliard didn't and so she gave in.
'Let it then be spread upon the record of this House,' Hilliard said in a deep voice, 'that again-honorable Timothy Hilliard still hates fish.'
Timmy laughed a little and Emily giggled too. Donna's eyelids began to droop.
'As I was saying,' Hilliard said, 'Amby should have a back-breaking mortgage to go with his school loans, just like everyone else. He should have worries. He looks and acts like he goes to bed at night and sleeps like a regular lamb. It's time he took on some adult obligations and responsibilities, keep him tossin' and turnin' all night like the rest of the grown-ups.
'I like the guy. I'd hate to see him just drift into one of those second-banana lives so many bright young guys settle for. Amby's got way too much on the ball. You see it happening around you all the time. They get involved in politics, not running for office, just helping out, but the stuff that they're doing's worthwhile. At first it's all right; it's perfectly fine. They meet some new people a lot like themselves and they have a good time. They get something done that they feel good about, and they manage to keep their perspective.
'But then the first thing you know, it starts to happen to them. You can see it happening, watch it right in front of you. They gradually start sliding into this sort of hip indolence. Get hooked on inside stuff; always in the know about what's going on before the dumb outside world gets a clue.
'They overlook the fact that all they ever are's privileged spectators.
All they've really got's their own personal knothole. The reason that they always know exactly what's going on is they spend all their time at the fence, lookin' through that damn knothole. They begin to think it's a big deal: they can look through the fence and watch this whole game that almost everybody else only hears about on the radio, TV, or read about the next day in the paper. Not too many people have this kind of access; it must be a distinction, something special. They think it must mean they're pretty special. They start to act like jerks, swagger a little, feel good.
'They're partly right. The access, the entry, your own parking place:
It's fun and it does mean something. It just isn't what they think it means. The reason there's the high board-fence around the game they're watching is the opposite of what they think it is. It's there to hide it. It's not there to keep the crowd out; it's there to keep the players in. The people without knotholes don't want 'em. They're the ones who put up the fence. They don't want to see the game. They think it's disgusting. If they had their way, they'd ban it like they do cockfights and bullfights and the dogfights in pits, and bear-baiting. Put in a king and then ignore him; that's what they'd choose to do, if you let 'em.
'Young guys don't seem to understand that. That once they settle for their knothole, that's all they'll ever
