"Uh-huh."
Tim laughed.
"What's so darned funny?"
"Women."
"Are we such a bunch of clowns?"
"Not clowns, Janet. Just funny."
"All right, genius. Explain that."
"A woman is a lovely creature who sends a man away so that he can't do
what she wants him to do most of all."
"Uh-huh."
"She feeds him full of rare steak until he wants to crawl off in a corner
like the family mutt and go to sleep. Once she gets him in a somnolent
state, she drapes herself tastefully on his shoulder and gets soft and
warm and willing."
Mrs. Bagley laughed throatily. "Just start getting active," she warned,
"and you'll see how fast I can beat a hasty retreat."
"Janet, what _is_ with you?"
"What do you mean?"
"What are you hiding?"
"Hiding?"
"Yes, confound it, hiding!" he said, his voice turning hard. "Just who is
this Charles Maxwell character, anyway?"
"Tim, please--"
His voice lowered again. "Janet," he said softly, "you're asking me to
trust you, and at the same time you're not trusting me."
"But I've nothing to hide."
"Oh, stop it. I'm no schoolboy, Janet. If you have nothing to hide, why
are you acting as if you were sitting on the lid?"
"I still don't know what you're talking about."
"Your words say so, but your tone is the icy haughtiness that dares me,
mere male that I am, to call your lie. I've a half-notion to stomp
upstairs and confront your mysterious Maxwell--if he indeed exists."
"You mustn't. He'd--"
"He'd what? I've been in this house for hours day and night and now all
evening. I've never heard a sound, not the creak of a floorboard, the
slam of a door, the opening of a window, nor the distant gurgle of cool,
clear water, gushing into plumbing. So you've been married. This I know.
You have a daughter. This I accept. Your husband is dead. This happens to
people every day; nice people, bad people, bright people, dull people.
There was a young boy here last summer. Him I do not know, but you and
your daughter I do know about. I've checked--"
"How dare you check--?"
"I damn well dare check anything and anybody I happen to be personally
interested in," he stormed. "As a potential bed partner I wouldn't give a
hoot who you were or what you were. But before I go to the point of
dividing the rest of my life on an exclusive contract, I have the right
to know what I'm splitting it with."
"You have no right--"
"Balderdash! I have as much right as anybody to look at the record. I
grant you the same right to look up my family and my friends and the
status of my bank account and my credit rating and my service record.
Grant it? Hell, I couldn't stop you. Now, what's going on? Where is your
daughter and where is that little boy? And where--if he exists--is this
Charles Maxwell?"
* * * * *
James had heard enough. No matter which way this was going, it would end
up wrong. He was proud of Mrs. Bagley's loyalty, but he knew that it was
an increasing strain and could very well lead to complications that could
not be explained away without the whole truth. He decided that the only
thing to do was to put in his own oar and relieve Mrs. Bagley.
He walked in, yawning. He stood between them, facing Tim Fisher. Behind
him, Mrs. Bagley cried, "Now see--you've awakened him!"
In a dry-throated voice, Tim said, "I thought he was away at school. Now,
what's the story?"
"It isn't her story to tell," said James. "It's mine."
"Now see here--"
"Mr. Fisher, you can't learn anything by talking incessantly."
Tim Fisher took a step forward, his face dark, his intention to shake the
truth out of somebody. James held up a hand. "Sit down a moment and
listen," he ordered.
The sight of James and the words that this child was uttering stopped Tim
Fisher. Puzzled, he nodded dumbly, found a chair, and sat on the front
edge of it, poised.
"The whereabouts of Mr. Maxwell is his own business and none of yours.
Your criticism is unfounded and your suspicions unworthy. But since you
take the attitude that this is some of your business, we don't mind
telling you that Mr. Maxwell is in New York on business."
Tim Fisher eyed the youngster. "I thought you were away at school," he
repeated.
"I heard you the first time," said James. "Obviously, I am not. Why I am
not is Mr. Maxwell's business, not yours. And by insisting that something
is wrong here and demanding the truth, you have placed Mrs. Bagley in the
awkward position of having to make a decision that divides her loyalties.
She has had the complete trust of Mr. Maxwell for almost a year and a
half. Now, tell me, Mr. Fisher, to whom shall she remain loyal?"
"That isn't the point--"
"Yes, it is the point, Mr. Fisher. It is exactly the point. You're asking
Mrs. Bagley to tell you the details of her employer's business, which is
unethical."
"How much have you heard?" demanded Fisher crossly.
"Enough, at least to know what you've been hammering at."
"Then you know that I've as much as said that there was some suspicion
attached."
"Suspicion of what?"
"Well, why aren't you in school?"
"That's Mr. Maxwell's business."
"Let me tell you, youngster, it is more than your Mr. Maxwell's business.
There are laws about education and he's breaking them."
James said patiently: "The law states that every child shall receive an
adequate education. The precise wording I do not know, but it does
provide for schooling outside of the state school system if the parent or
guardian so prefers, and providing that such extraschool education is
deemed adequate by the state. Can you say that I am not properly
educated, Mr. Fisher?"
"Well, you'd hardly expect me to be an expert on the subject."
"Then I'd hardly expect you to pass judgment, either," said James
pointedly.
"You're pretty--" Tim Fisher caught his tongue at the right moment. He
felt his neck getting hot. It is hard enough to be told that you are
off-base and that your behavior has been bad when an adult says the
damning words. To hear the same words from a ten-year-old is unbearable.
Right or wrong, the adult's position is to turn aside or shut the child
up either by pulling rank or cuffing the young offender with an open
hand. To have this upstart defend Mrs. Bagley, in whose presence he could
hardly lash back, put Mr. Fisher in a very unhappy state of mind. He
swallowed and then asked, lamely, "Why does he have to be so furtive?"
"What is your definition of 'furtive'?" asked James calmly. "Do you
employ the same term to describe the operations of that combination
College-A.E.C. installation on the other side of town?"
"That's secret--"
"Implying that atomic energy is secretly above-board, legal, and
honorable, whereas Mr. Maxwell's--"
"But we know about atomic energy."
"Sure we do," jeered James, and the sound of his immature near-treble
voice made the jeer very close to an insult. "We know _all_ about atomic
energy. Was the Manhattan Project called 'furtive' until Hiroshima gave
the story away?"
"You're trying to put words in my mouth," objected Tim.
"No, I'm not. I'm merely trying to make you understand something
important to everybody. You come in here and claim by the right of
personal interest that we should be most willing to tell you our
business. Then in the next breath you defend the installation over on the
other side of town for their attitude in giving the bum's rush to people
who try to ask questions about their business. Go read your Constitution,
Mr. Fisher. It says there that I have as much right to defend my home
against intruders as the A.E.C. has to defend their home against spies."
"But I'm not intruding."
James nodded his head gently. "Not," he said, "until you make the grave
error of equating personal privacy with culpable guilt."
"I didn't mean that."
"You should learn to say what you mean," said James, "instead of trying
to pry information out of someone who happens to be fond of you."
"Now see here," said Tim Fisher, "I happen to be fond of her too, you
know. Doesn't that give me some rights?"
"Would you expect to know all of her business if she were your wife?"
"Of course."
"Suppose she were working in the A.E.C.-College?"
"Well, that--er--"
"Would be different?"
"Well, now--"
"I talked this right around in its circle for a purpose," said James.
"Stop and think for a moment. Let's discuss me. Mr. Fisher, where would
you place me in school?"
"Er--how old are you?"
"Nine," said James. "In April."
"Well, I'm not sure--"
"Exactly. Do you suppose that I could sit in a classroom among my
nine-year-old contemporaries very long without being found out?"
"Er--no--I suppose not."
"Mr. Fisher, how long do you think I could remain a secret if I attended
high school, sitting at a specially installed desk in a class among
teenagers twice my size?"
"Not very long."
"Then remember that some secrets are so big that you have to have armed
guards to keep them secret, and others are so easy to conceal that all
you need is a rambling old house and a plausible façade."
"Why have you told me all this?"
"Because you have penetrated this far by your own effort, justified by
your own personal emotions, and driven by an urge that is all-powerful if
I am to believe the books I've read on the subject. You are told this
much of the truth so that you won't go off half-cocked with a fine
collection of rather dangerous untruths. Understand?"
"I'm beginning to."
"Well, whether Mrs. Bagley accepts your offer of marriage or not,
remember one thing: If she were working for the A.E.C. you'd be proud of
her, and you'd also be quite careful not to ask questions that would
cause her embarrassment."
Tim Fisher looked at Mrs. Bagley. "Well?" he asked.
Mrs. Bagley looked bleak. "Please don't ask me until I've had a chance to
discuss all of the angles with Mr. Maxwell, Tim."
"Maxwell, again."
"Tim," she said in a quiet voice, "remember--he's an employer, not an
emotional involvement."
James Holden looked at Tim Fisher. "And if you'll promise to keep this
thing as close a secret as you would some information about atomic
energy, I'll go to bed and let you settle your personal problems in
private. Good night!"
He left, reasonably satisfied that Tim Fisher would probably keep their
secret for a time, at least. The hinted suggestion that this was as
important a government project as the Atomic Energy Commission's works
would prevent casual talk. There was also the slim likelihood that Tim
Fisher might enjoy the position of being on the inside of a big secret,
although this sort of inner superiority lacks true satisfaction. There
was a more solid chance that Tim Fisher, being the ambitious man that he
was, would keep their secret in the hope of acquiring for himself some
of the superior knowledge and the advanced ability that went with it.
But James was certain that the program that had worked so well with Mrs.
Bagley would fail with Tim Fisher. James had nothing material to offer
Tim. Tim was the kind of man who would insist upon his wife being a
full-time wife, physically, emotionally, and intellectually.
And James suddenly realized that Tim Fisher's own ambition and character
would insist that Mrs. Bagley, with Martha, leave James Holden to take up
residence in a home furnished by Tim Fisher upon the date and at time she
became Mrs. Timothy Fisher.
He was still thinking about the complications this would cause when he
heard Tim leave. His clock said three-thirty.
* * * * *
James Holden's mechanical educator was a wonderful machine, but there
were some aspects of knowledge that it was not equipped to impart. The
glandular comprehension of love was one such; there were others. In all
of his hours under the machine James had not learned how personalities
change and grow.
And yet there was a textbook case right before his eyes.
In a few months, Janet Bagley had changed from a frightened and
belligerent mother-animal to a cheerful young prospective wife. The
importance of the change lay in the fact that it was not polar, nothing
reversed; it was only that the emphasis passed gradually from the
protection of the young to the development of Janet Bagley herself.
James could not very well understand, though he tried, but he couldn't
miss seeing it happen. It was worrisome. It threatened complications.
There was quite a change that came with Tim Fisher's elevation in status
from steady date to affianced husband, heightened by Tim Fisher's partial
understanding of the situation at Martin's Hill.
Then, having assumed the right to drop in as he pleased, he went on to
assume more "rights" as Mrs. Bagley's fiancé. He brought in his friends
from time to time. Not without warning, of course, for he understood the
need for secrecy. When he brought friends it was after warning, and very
frequently after he had helped them to remove the traces of juvenile
occupancy from the lower part of the house.
In one way, this took some of the pressure off. The opening of the
"hermit's" house to the friends of the "hermit's" housekeeper's fiancé
and friends was a pleasant evidence of good will; people stopped
wondering, a little.
On the other hand, James did not wholly approve. He contrasted this with
what he remembered of his own home life. The guests who came to visit his
mother and father were quiet and earnest. They indulged in animated
discussions, argued points of deep reasoning, and in moments of
relaxation they indulged in games that demanded skill and intellect.
Tim Fisher's friends were noisy and boisterous. They mixed highballs.
They danced to music played so loud that it made the house throb. They
watched the fights on television and argued with more volume than logic.
They were, to young James, a far cry from his parents' friends.
But, as he couldn't do anything about it, he refused to worry about it.
James Holden turned his thoughts forward and began to plan how he was
going to face the culmination of this romance next September Fifteenth.
He even suspected that there would probably be a number of knotty little
problems that he now knew nothing about; he resolved to allow some
thinking-time to cope with them when, as, and if.
In the meantime, the summer was coming closer.
He prepared to make a visible show of having Mr. Charles Maxwell leave
for a protracted summer travel. This would ease the growing problem of
providing solid evidence of Maxwell's presence during the increasing
frequency of Tim Fisher's visits and the widening circle of Mrs. Bagley's
acquaintances in Shipmont. At the same time he and Martha would make a
return from the Bolton School for Youth. This would allow them their
freedom for the summer; for the first time James looked forward to it.
Martha Bagley was progressing rapidly. This summer would see her over and
done with the scatter-brain prattle that gave equal weight to fact or
fancy. Her store of information was growing; she could be relied upon to
maintain a fairly secure cover. Her logic was not to James Holden's
complete satisfaction but she accepted most of his direction as necessary
information to be acted upon now and reasoned later.
In the solving of his immediate problems, James can be forgiven for
putting Paul Brennan out of his mind.