Johrmy said, 'What do you make of Emily's reaction to your name?' He made himself look with very blunt curiosity into those eyes.
Bartee smiled. His carved lips drew back from perfect teeth. 'Misunderstanding is my guess,' he said. 'Over a transcontinental telephone, what else can you expect? I don't suppose we'll ever know what she thought Nan had said.'
'Too bad,' said Johimy Sims. 'So you can't imagine what it might be, eh?'
Dick Bartee said easily, 'Now see here. I've knocked around the world a bit and you know as well as I do evert/thing I ve done wouldn't necessarily dehght a maiden aunt. There is, just the same, no reason I know why Nan shouldn't marry me.' His gaze was perfectly open and direct.
'That's good,' said Johnny glumly.
'I never heard of a woman named Emily Padgett,' said Bartee, 'until I met Nan, of course.'
Johimy realized with a tiny shock that if the man was innocent this could be true. I changed all the names—I had to, Emily had said. Johnny turned for the door.
Bartee said, 'I never met her. I'm afraid I can't be altogether sorry she's left Nan and me alone in the world together. There's a confession for you.'
He clapped Johnny on the back and then he followed Johnny up the stairs.
Johnny went up, seething. Either the man was innocent and super-honest. Or he was bold. He was very bold.
Upstairs Johnny's mother had everything under control. Food was at hand for the condolers who were coming and going. At least four of these were Dorothy's young men. Nan was in the big back room and Bartee went to her. Something about the way she stood then, with the big blond man behind her, where Johnny had so often stood himself, made him feel angry.
In a little while he ambled through the dining room into the kitchen. 'Ma, I'm leaving. You O.K.?'
His mother said, 'Go about your business, do,' She looked sharp. 'You were bom with brains, John Sims. Remember?'
'And thanky ma'am,' said Johnny. 'I try to use them.' He knew he'd just been scolded for evasion or, to put it bluntly, lying about having been to see Emily. He couldn't help it.
He went back through the little pantry and there was Dorothy fiercely spreading crackers. Something about the bend of her fair neck made a sudden lump come into Jolmny's throat. 'Ah, Dotty,' he said, 'couldn't you rest?' ^ 'No,' she s^d belligerently. 'I'd rather do something.' 'Me too,' said Johnny sadly. He wasn't happy with his secret, that alienated him here. 'You don't need me, I guess,' he said gloomily.
'Nan's all right,' she replied distantly. Johrmy went through to the big back room. Nan said, 'Wait, we'll come to the door. I want to say something . , .'
So Nan, with Dick Bartee at her back, stood in the little hall and said, 'I'm sorry if I sounded too cross dowoistairs, Johnny. Dick says I did.'
Johrmy's eyes flicked up to the big man's face. 'I only said you undoubtedly felt pretty terrible about not going when Emily called. No use to hit a man when he's down.' The big man was smiUng.
''That's right,' stammered Johnny. 'I do ... I do feel
pretty terrible.' He slid out of the door, got away awkwardly.
'So that's your old boy friend,' said Dick Bartee. In the
Httle passageway he put his arms around Nan from behind.
There was a mirror and he looked at her in it. 'He never did shake my hand. Notice that?'
'Maybe it is hard for Johnny,' Nan said.
'Lost you,' he murmured. 'Poor guy. It's not easy. Come home to Hestia with me, love? After Monday? On Monday?'
'Oh, I couldn't . . .'
'Yes, you could,' he said sofdy. 'You could, love.' He watched her face in the mirror, saw the sadness changing to the dream.
'Perhaps I could,' Nan said. 'I've only got you, really. Except Dorothy.'
'And I've got you,' he murmured. 'Let Johnny watch over Dorothy.'
Dorothy, bringing a tray of crackers, came by. She heard her cousin Nan saying, 'But he never did date Dorothy, you know. Johnny was mine.' Dorothy turned around and went back into the kitchen.
'What is it?' said Johnny's mother sharply.
'It just—kind of hit me,' said Dorothy thoughtfully. 'Nothing is the way it used to be.'
There was a George Rush in the Oakland book with two numbers listed, one a radio-TV Repair Shop, the other a residence. Johnny found the shop closed. He drove to the other address. This turned out to be shabby frame house which looked deserted.
The neighbor leaned over his fence. 'Looking for Rush? He's gone down to the tavern. Two blocks east.'
'Thanks.'
'His TV's on the blink. Hee hee. Too lazy to fix his own, I guess. He's gone to catch the ball game. Hee hee.'
Johnny perceived that he owed this helpful interference to the humor of it.
