"I have to do what I think is right."
Karen was smiling as he held the door open for her.
* * * * *
It was a foggy night, two nights after Wheelan had picketed the
fairgrounds and been run off by Chief Neff. Wheelan had decided to walk
down toward the beach after dinner. His aunt wasn't speaking to him.
Nor was she cooking for him. He got a hamburger at a drive-in across
the road from the long narrow San Miguel beach; then wandered through
the fog toward the last sidewalk before the sand.
He heard a car slow behind him, then saw the nose of a Ford convertible
slide out of the thickening mist. Eventually he saw Karen, her dark
hair in a thin scarf, smiling at him from behind the wheel. "You mad?"
she called.
Wheelan finished the hamburger and wiped his hands on his pocket
handkerchief. "More or less."
"Want to come along for a drive?"
He came up to the passenger side of the front seat. "Why don't you put
the top down?"
"I like the way the fog feels. Come on." She stretched across the front
seat and opened the door.
"Someplace in particular?" He caught the door as it swung out.
"Well, yes. Somebody wants to see you."
"Oh?" He got in. "You playing messenger now?"
"Don't be nasty. This is for your own good, or I wouldn't be doing it."
"Okay. I take your word for it." Wheelan stretched his legs out as far
as they would go and folded his arms.
Karen made a U-turn on the smooth street and drove carefully back
through the town.
Near the fairgrounds Wheelan asked, "You taking me to the meeting with
you?"
Karen shook her head, turning the car sharply up a steep, tree-lined
street. They stopped in front of a ranch-style bungalow. "Here we are,"
she said, getting out of the car.
Wheelan followed her up a brick path, his hands in his pockets. The fog
was tightening in around them.
A short man with a high, lined forehead and cropped gray hair opened
the door of the bungalow. "Evening, Karen," he said, smiling.
"Mr. Balderstone, Mr. Wheelan," Karen said.
Wheelan nodded and came into the house after her.
Balderstone stopped in front of a deep fireplace. "Thought we ought to
have a chat."
"I hear you mentioned me in your service the night I picketed your
place," Wheelan said.
"Explained to newcomers that you were the town eccentric."
Balderstone's heavy gray eyebrows slanted toward each other. "People
come to my lectures--don't call them services--to unbend. To relax.
Don't like to have somebody shouting at them through a megaphone and
waving signs, Wheelan." He crossed the room. "Drink?"
Wheelan shook his head, glancing at Karen.
She had sat in a straight back chair and folded her hands. "Scotch and
soda," she said to Balderstone.
* * * * *
After he made the drinks Balderstone said, "Some consider me a
benefactor, Wheelan. I have invented a somewhat unique thing. Applied
lycanthropy--though most people think of that as involving only
wolves." He gestured, and ice rattled in his glass. "Cats have a much
higher therapeutic value. It's essential, Wheelan, for people to get
out of themselves now and then. To find relief from tension so that
their lives may be more rewarding and satisfying." He moved closer to
Wheelan, who was still standing near the door. "These are troubled
times, Wheelan."
"I've told him that myself," Karen said, trying her Scotch.
"The results of applied lycanthropy have been most positive. Not only
have people been helped, but San Miguel has been helped. Don't think
other cities wouldn't jump at the chance to have me locate there." He
cleared his throat. "As a matter of fact, we're considering opening
branches. It's my intention to help the entire world."
"And it's my intention to run you out of town," Wheelan said.
Balderstone laughed and shook his head. "Miss Wylie tells me you're
a decent fellow, basically, as are so many before the pressures of
everyday life remold them. At any rate, I simply want to point out that
many of us are annoyed by you. I don't think you want that."
"Yes, I do. I'm out to get you."
"You're getting on my nerves." Balderstone scratched his nose.
"Leaflets, pamphlets, letters. Demonstrations. And now I get word that
you've been going around to pet shops and florists trying to buy large
quantities of catnip."
"Nobody has any."
"Of course not. And I also find that yesterday you visited the humane
society in Santa Monica and tried to buy several big dogs. The trouble
with you, Wheelan, you've got no civic pride."