Savage Night

There was a slight mimicking note to her voice, a tone that wasn't so much nasty as amused and contemptuous.

The car stopped in front of the house. A door opened and closed-slammed-and someone said, 'Now, you take keer o' yerseif, Ruthie,' and that broken piston began to clatter, and the car pulled away.

The gate squeaked. There was a footstep on the walk; just one footstep, and a tap; a kind of thud- tap. It-She-came up the walk, stepping and thud-tapping. She came up the steps- thud-tap, thud-tap-and across the porch.

Mr. Kendall shook his head at me sadly. 'Poor girl,' he said, dropping his voice.

Mrs. Winroy excused herself and got up.

She met Ruth at the front door and hustled her right down the hall and into the kitchen. So I didn't get a good look at her; rather, I should say, one good look was all I did get. But what I saw interested me. Maybe it wouldn't interest you, but it did me.

She had on an old mucklededung-colored coat-the way it was screaming Sears-Roebuck they should have paid her to wear it-and a kind of rough wool skirt, Her glasses were the kind your grandpa maybe wore, little tiny lenses, steel rims, pinchy across the nose. They made her eyes look like walnuts in a plate of cream fudge. Her hair was black and thick and shiny, but the way it was fixed-murder!

She only had one leg, the right one. The fingers of her left hand, gripping the crosspiece of her crutch, looked a little splayed.

I heard Mrs. Winroy ordering her around in the kitchen, not mean but pretty firm and fussy. I heard water running into the sink and pans clattering, and the thud-tap, thud-tap, thud-tap, moving faster and faster- humble, apologetic, anxious. I could almost hear her heart pounding with it,

Mr. Kendall passed me the sugar, then spooned some into his own coffee. 'Tsk, tsk,' he said. I'd been hearing people say that in books for years, but he was the first real-life guy I'd ever heard say it, 'Such a sad thing for a fine young woman.'

'Yeah,' I said, 'isn't it?'

'And there's nothing to be done about it, apparently. She'll have to go through life that way.'

'You mean she can't raise the dough for an artificial leg?' I said, 'There's ways of getting around that.'

'We-el'-he looked down at his plate uncomfortably-'of course, the family is impoverished. But it's-well, it's not a question of money.'

'What is it a question of?'

'Well-er-uh'-he was actually blushing-'I have no- uh-personal knowledge of the-er-situation, but I understand it's a-It's due to a very-uh-peculiar malformation of the-er-'

'Yeah?' I encouraged him.

'-of the left limb!' he finished.

He came out with it like it was a dirty word. I grinned to myself, and said 'Yeah?' again. But he wasn't talking any more about Ruth's-uh-er-limb, and I didn't press him any. It made it more interesting not to know.

I could look forward to finding out about it myself.

He stuffed his pipe and lit up. He asked me if I'd ever noticed how so many deserving people-people who did their best to be decent-got so little out of life.

'Yes,' I said.

'Well,' he said, 'I suppose every picture has its bright side. Ruthie couldn't get employment in any other household, and Mrs. Winroy couldn't-uh--Mrs. Winroy was having some difficulty in finding anyone. So it all works out nicely. Mrs. Winroy has a grateful and industrious servant. Ruth has her board and room and spending money. Five dollars a week now, I believe.'

'No kidding!' I said. 'Five dollars a week! That must put an awful strain on Mrs. Winroy.'

'I suppose it does,' he nodded seriously, 'things being as they are, But Ruth's an unusually good worker.'

'I should think she would be for that kind of money.'

He took his pipe out of his mouth, and looked into the bowl. He glanced up at me, and he chuckled.

'I'm not much of a man to recite personal history, Mr. Bigelow, but-well, I was a teacher for a great many years. English literature. Yes, I taught here at the college for a time. My parents were living then, and I couldn't stretch my salary over the needs of the three of us; so I entered and remained in a more remunerative trade. But I've never lost my interest in literature, particularly in the satirists-'

'I see,' I said, and it was my turn to blush a little.

'It's always seemed to me that satire cannot exist outside the rarefied atmosphere of excellence. It is either excellent or it is nothing… I should be very glad to lend you my Gulliver's Travels, Mr. Bigelow. Also the collected works of Lucilius, Juvenal, Butler-'

'That's enough. That's more than enough.' I held up a hand, grinning. 'I'm sorry, Mr. Kendall.'

'Quite all right,' he nodded placidly. 'You had no way of knowing, of course, but a student who earns five dollars a week and her board and room in a college town-this town, at least-is doing very well for herself.'

'Sure,' I said, 'I don't doubt it a bit.'

All at once I'd had a crazy idea about him, one that kind of gave me the whimwhams. Because maybe everyone doesn't have a price, but if this dull, dignified old guy did have one… Well, he'd be worth almost anything he asked as an ace in the hole. He could throw in with me, in case of a showdown: back me up in a story, or actually give me a hand if there was no other way out. Otherwise, he'd just keep tabs on me, see that I didn't try a runout…

But that was crazy. I've already said so. The Man knew I couldn't run. He knew I wouldn't fluff the job. I shoved the idea out of my mind, shoved it damned good and hard. You just can't play around with notions like that.

Mrs. Winroy came in from the kitchen, picking up her purse from the sideboard, She paused at the table.

'I don't want to rush you gentlemen, but I think Ruth would like to cleat up here whenever you're through.'

'Certainly, certainly.' Mr. Kendall pushed back his chair. 'Shall we take our coffee into the living room, Mr. Bigelow?'

'Why don't you take Carl's cup for him?' she said. 'I'd like to speak to him for a moment.'

'Certainly. Of course,' he said.

He took our cups and crossed the hall into the living room. I followed her out onto the porch.

It was dark out there. She stood up close to me. 'You stinker,' she said accusingly, half laughing. 'I heard you giving him the rib… So I'm putting a strain on myself, am I?'

'Hell,' I said, 'you couldn't expect me to pass up an opening like that. As a matter of fact, when it comes to an attractive opening I-'

She snickered. 'But look, Carl-honey…'

'Yeah?' I said. I brought my hands up to her hips.

'I've got to run downtown for a while, honey. I'll get back as soon as I can, but if Jake shows up while I'm gone, don't-well, don't pay any attention to him.'

'That could be quite a job,' I said.