'I don't know. Wednesday morning, early.'
'Who drove?'
'He did,' said the girl. 'And don't get excited. He drove very nicely. I was amazed.'
'He drove? Muriel, you gave me your word of--'
'Mother,' the girl interrupted, 'I just told you. He drove very nicely. Under fifty the whole way, as a matter of fact.'
'Did he try any of that funny business with the trees?'
'I said he drove very nicely, Mother. Now, please. I asked him to stay close to the white line, and all, and he knew what I meant, and he did. He was even trying not to look at the trees-you could tell. Did Daddy get the car fixed, incidentally?'
'Not yet. They want four hundred dollars, just to--'
'Mother, Seymour told Daddy that he'd pay for it. There's no reason for--'
'Well, we'll see. How did he behave--in the car and all?'
'All right,' said the girl.
'Did he keep calling you that awful--'
'No. He has something new now.'
'What?'
'Oh, what's the difference, Mother?'
'Muriel, I want to know. Your father--'
'All right, all right. He calls me Miss Spiritual Tramp of 1948,' the girl said, and giggled.
'It isn't funny, Muriel. It isn't funny at all. It's horrible. It's sad, actually. When I think how--'
'Mother,' the girl interrupted, 'listen to me. You remember that book he sent me from Germany? You know-- those German poems. What'd I do with it? I've been racking my--'
'You have it.'
'Are you sure?' said the girl.
'Certainly. That is, I have it. It's in Freddy's room. You left it here and I didn't have room for it in the--Why? Does he want it?'
'No. Only, he asked me about it, when we were driving down. He wanted to know if I'd read it.'
'It was in German!'
'Yes, dear. That doesn't make any difference,' said the girl, crossing her legs. 'He said that the poems happen to be written by the only great poet of the century. He said I should've bought a translation or something. Or learned the language, if you please.'
'Awful. Awful. It's sad, actually, is what it is. Your father said last night--'
'Just a second, Mother,' the girl said. She went over to the window seat for her cigarettes, lit one, and returned to her seat on the bed.
'Mother?' she said, exhaling smoke.
'Muriel. Now, listen to me.'
'I'm listening.'
'Your father talked to Dr. Sivetski.'
'Oh?' said the girl.
'He told him everything. At least, he said he did--you know your father. The trees. That business with the window. Those horrible things he said to Granny about her plans for passing away. What he did with all those lovely pictures from Bermuda--everything.'
'Well?' said the girl.
'Well. In the first place, he said it was a perfect crime the Army released him from the hospital--my word of honor. He very definitely told your father there's a chance--a very great chance, he said--that Seymour may completely lose control of himself. My word of honor.'
'There's a psychiatrist here at the hotel,' said the girl.
'Who? What's his name?'
'I don't know. Rieser or something. He's supposed to be very good.'
'Never heard of him.'
'Well, he's supposed to be very good, anyway.'
'Muriel, don't be fresh, please. We're very worried about you. Your father wanted to wire you last night to come home, as a matter of f--'
'I'm not coming home right now, Mother. So relax.'
'Muriel. My word of honor. Dr. Sivetski said Seymour may completely lose contr--'
'I just got here, Mother. This is the first vacation I've had in years, and I'm not going to just pack everything and come home,' said the girl. 'I couldn't travel now anyway. I'm so sunburned I can hardly move.'
