Skulldoggery

8

However strong his incentive, Lester’s will was considerably weaker. Daily during the next week, he arose resolved to tackle Mrs. Crump without further delay, but the resolution, faced with practical problems, always diminished and was sooner or later appeased with a promise of action tomorrow. In the meantime, however, he was developing psychosomatic pains in his arms and legs, as well as in his nose and jaw, and at last he forced himself into the neighborhood of Grandfather’s house. Irresolute, filled with the most dreadful forebodings, he idled along the iron picket fence, staring moodily at the ugly old shack, and once he lowered himself to his haunches and peered this way and that through the pickets. It had occurred to him that he might surprise Senorita Fogarty at play on the lawn. If so, and if she could be lured within reach, it would be possible to simplify matters by direct action, thus circumventing Mrs. Crump herself. But this was, of course, no more than wishful thinking. In the first place, Senorita Fogarty, as the world’s richest Chihuahua, would surely not be permitted to gambol unrestrained on the grass like any common mutt. In the second place, even if she were, she detested Lester too thoroughly to be suckered by any deceit he might conjure up. Finally compelled to face these realities squarely, Lester breathed deeply and stiffened his spine and approached the gate. Admitting himself, he went up the front walk between the cast-iron deer to the front door.

He put a thumb against the bell button and leaned upon it. After a minute, in response to the imperious bell, there was the sound of a heavy tread, and the door swung open, following a brief business with the lock, to reveal Mrs. Crump standing spraddle-legged in the aperture like an embattlement.

“Oh,” she said, “it’s you.”

“Yes, it is,” Lester said. “How are you, Mrs. Crump?”

“What do you want?”

This repeated emphasis of the second person pronoun, coupled with her pointed refusal to be decoyed into amiability, did nothing whatever to increase his optimism, which was hardly existent anyhow. Having come this far, however, he was determined now to try the issue, however disastrous the consequences.

“I want to come in, if you don’t mind,” he said.

“What for?”

“My dear lady, I’ve come here in the best of spirits and with the most innocent of intentions. I am reconciled to things as they are, and I wish to be friends.”

“Come off!”

“I assure you that it’s true. May I come in and convince you?”

“Fat chance!” Mrs. Crump defied him with her expression to convince her of anything, including the law of gravity. “I guess you can come in, though, if you want to. I won’t say I don’t mind, but I guess it won’t do any harm.”

“Thank you. You’re exceedingly gracious.”

His irony was injudicious, at least, but Mrs. Crump was apparently impervious. He slipped past her into the hall and felt, hearing her lock the door after him, as if he had committed the gravest tactical error since Custer.

“I’m making a cake in the kitchen,” Mrs. Crump said. “If you want to talk to me, you’ll have to come in there.”

“A pleasure,” said Lester. “The best room in the house, I always say.”

He followed her to the kitchen at the rear of the house and perched himself on the observation point of a long-’ legged stool, which had, in addition to its strategic advantage, the comfortable familiarity of being somewhat similar to those usually lined up along one side of a bar. He watched her bitterly as she resumed stirring a batter in a bowl. It was no more than he should have expected, of course. Give underprivileged folk like the Crumps an inch, he thought, and they immediately take a mile. Elevate them suddenly to a position of affluence, and they at once begin eating cake and in general living like rich pigs. What made it worse, they were squandering the substance that properly belonged to others.

“Well,” said Mrs. Crump, “if you’ve got any funny business in your mind, you might as well get it off.”

“I have no business on my mind, funny or otherwise,” Lester said. “My call is purely social. Where, by the way, is Crump?”

“Crump’s out.”

“Really? What good luck! It’s apparent that I’ve come at just the right time.”

“Is it? Why?” Mrs. Crump glared at him with dour suspicion. “I warn you you’d better not try any fancy work on me, young feller. I can take care of myself. Crump, wouldn’t be any advantage at all.”

As if to support her claim, she waved the heavy wooden mixing spoon larded with yellow batter, and Lester’s pessimism was for a moment superseded by terror.

“I don’t see why you persist in thinking the worst of me,” he said hurriedly. “Am I so bad as all that?”

“You’re too pretty and too sneaky by far, if you want to know the truth.”

“Surely you don’t mean that”

“Don’t I just!”

“Do you know what I think? I think you’re actually a warm and affectionate woman, that’s what. You are, besides, quite charming in a buxom style.”

“And you’re a liar in any style you care to mention.”

“Well, you’re determined to repel me, I can see. I won’t be discouraged though. I’m convinced that you only need to be released. Crump has done you no good.”

“Crump’s no prize, that’s sure, but he’s my husband, and I’m stuck with him, and I know my duty to him.”

“Duty? Onerous word! More than one fair person has wasted away under its curse. Come, Mrs. Crump, you must abandon yourself to life before it’s too late.”

“I’ll abandon myself to violence, that’s what I’ll do. I got a notion you’re leading up to something dirty.”

“What a fantastic notion! Mrs. Crump you’ve misunderstood my meaning, which was absolutely pure.”

“Do you know what I’d do to a man who threatened my chastity?” Mrs. Crump’s bulk was planted firmly in front of her chastity in a defensive position. “I’d take a meat cleaver to him.”

Lester, who had been prepared to attack or retreat, as developments warranted, decided that it was high time to do the latter. No meat cleaver was in evidence, but he slipped off the stool and got behind it, just in case one suddenly appeared.

“Mrs. Crump, I assure you that your chastity is in no danger. Not the slightest. I only came here to restore good relations, and I’m anxious to show my good faith in any way I can. Perhaps I could perform a small service for you or something.”

“What kind of service?”

“I could exercise Senorita Fogarty for you.”

“You mean take her outside?”

“Yes. For a short walk, perhaps. Surely you recognize the importance of exercise. She has literally God knows how many foot pounds of energy for every pound of dog.”

“Nothing doing. Crump walks the dog. Why are you so interested in doing it all of a sudden? You must be up to something.”

“Nothing of the sort. It’s just that my good feelings include Senorita Fogarty, as well as you and Crump, even though she has deprived me temporarily of my birthright. I’ve renounced resentment and recriminations. Incidentally, I haven’t noticed Senorita Fogarty about. Where is she?”

“Closed in my room, that’s where. And there she stays until you’re gone.”

“Surely I’m permitted to see her? The least you can do is to award me visiting privileges.”

“No privileges. No nothing. She hates you as it is, and you’d only upset her. She’s already a little off her feed.”

“Oh? Is it serious?”

“It would suit you fine if it was, wouldn’t it? No such luck for you, though. She’s missing her Master, poor dear, that’s all. She needs something to take her mind off her sorrow. Companionship is what she needs.”

Lester’s heart, which had lately leaped with hope, now sank in despair. Such a horrible possibility came to mind that he could scarcely bear to contemplate it.

“A nice little bitch would be the thing,” he said. “You understand, I hope, that a male would be unthinkable. It might even be fatal.”

“Fiddlesticks!” said Mrs. Crump. “I was just telling Crump this morning that Senorita Fogarty needs a family of her own. A sweet little stud and a diet of oatmeal would restore her to health in no time.”

“Great God!” Lester’s mounting horror caused his voice to ascend and thin. “Woman, what kind of depraved monster are you? You were just ready to defend your own infernal chastity with a meat cleaver, and now you propose to expose Senorita Fogarty to the most flagrant kind of lust!”

“Dogs are married,” Mrs. Crump said. “They’re born married.”

Lester, confronted by such incredible unenlightenment, could tolerate no more. The woman was clearly shot through with a kind of low peasant cunning, as well as a precarious temper, and retreat was indicated. Abandoning his position, which had been vulnerable from the beginning, he fled the kitchen and the house, and did not stop to reconnoiter until he was, at the curb of the street, stationed in the bucket behind the wheel of his MG.

The one thing that seemed to him imperative was to report quickly the dreadful intelligence that he had gained from his brief, inglorious skirmish with Mrs. Crump. It was an uncalculated compliment to Hester that he thought of her immediately as the proper agency to receive the report. Her superior ingenuity aside, she was, after all, the creator of the present plan, which had just resulted in a rout, and it was therefore her right to know of it first off. So thinking, he drove directly to Hester’s apartment, but as bad luck would have it, Hester wasn’t in.

It was damn inconsiderate of Hester, he thought, to be gone somewhere just when there was the most critical kind of emergency. However ingenious she might be, she was not to be relied on without reservation. He wondered where she was, but the possible places were so numerous and so varied that this was an altogether hopeless effort. The only sensible thing to do was to wait until Hester showed up in her own good time, and so he drove to his own apartment to wait, and there, as good luck would have it, was Hester talking with Flo and Uncle Homer.

Flo had obviously not been up very long, for she was still wearing a nightgown under a robe, and she was having a martini for breakfast with Uncle Homer, who was having several for tea. It was after four o’clock, and so Uncle Homer, who had drunk his breakfast and lunch long ago, was naturally not sober, but neither could he properly be called drunk. Uncle Homer never became properly drunk. So long as he could walk at all, he could walk unerringly in a straight line, and the only visible effect of innumerable martinis was an almost imperceptible process of ossification that suddenly, usually long after dinner, left him as immobile as a stone. Hester also had a martini, but it didn’t seem to be something she particularly wanted or needed. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, and the martini, untasted, was balanced on its stem between her knees.

“Oh, here you are,” Lester said. “I just came from your place. Why the devil don’t you ever stay home?”

“I was just about to ask the same of you, Brother. I came here specifically to see you, and what I want is an accounting. As you may recall, you promised in good faith to get Senorita Fogarty run over in the traffic, but a whole week has passed, and you’ve done nothing whatever about it. Why haven’t you?”

“That’s what I wanted to report. I’ve just come from Grandfather’s house and an encounter with Mrs. Crump. Are you by any chance planning to drink that martini?”

“I’m not sure. I’m considering it.”

“I wonder if you’d mind giving it to me?”

“I don’t really mind, but I don’t want you to get yourself all befuddled before you tell me exactly what happened.”

“A solitary martini couldn’t befuddle anyone,” said Uncle Homer. “It serves as a tonic to sharpen the wits and restore the soul. Give the boy your martini, Hester. It’s apparent that he needs it.”

Hester complied, seeing the need as clearly as Uncle Homer, and they all watched Lester with overt impatience while he drank the martini and consumed the olive.

“Now, Lester,” Hester said. “There is absolutely no excuse to delay an instant longer. Tell me at once what happened at Grandfather’s.”

“Yes, my boy,” said Uncle Homer. “We’re all ears.”

“As for me,” Lester said, “I’m lucky to have any ears whatever. Or anything else, for that matter.”

“Was Mrs. Crump uncooperative?” Hester said.

“That’s hardly the word for it. The damn woman is utterly impregnable. Moreover, she is constantly seething on the verge of violence.”

“I must say, Lester, that I’m disappointed in you. I was sure that you could corrupt her easily if you only tried. Did you really try? Perhaps another attempt would be more successful.”

“Oh, no! No, by God! You will never get me to volunteer, and that’s that.”

“The trouble with you, Lester, is you have no tenacity. You are always ready to give up far too easily. Perhaps you simply used the wrong technique. What did Mrs. Crump say?”

“She threatened to use a meat cleaver on me, that’s what.”

“Actually? How crude!”

“Yes,” said Uncle Homer. “One can never look for anything the least original or refined from people of that class.”

“Lester, darling,” Flo said, “I am constantly getting the most disturbing reports about you. It was only recently that someone threatened to break your arms and legs and heaven knows what all.”

“Believe me,” said Lester, “you are not half so disturbed as I am. What’s more, it has occurred to me that I’m the only one who is being threatened all over the place with all sorts of mayhem, and I’d like to know why.”

“Well, it’s in a good cause,” Uncle Homer said. “You owe something to your family, my boy.”

“Lester can’t help being cowardly,” Hester said, “and we mustn’t blame him for it. Lester, did you even get a glimpse of Senorita Fogarty while you were there?”

“No, I didn’t. She was closed in Mrs. Crump’s room, and I was denied visiting privileges. Moreover, she’s under the weather, mourning for Grandfather. Mrs. Crump plans to cure her with oatmeal and sex.”

The abrupt disclosure of this news made Uncle Homer jerk so violently that his martini slopped over and the olive leaped out of the glass onto the floor.

“Sex!” he said. “Did you say sex?”

“That’s what I said, and I’ve been trying to say it ever since I got here. Mrs. Crump is determined on a stud.”

“Can’t something be done to stop her?” said Flo. “Can’t she be arrested for flagrant immorality or something?”

“She says it’s not immoral,” Lester said. “She says all dogs are born married.”

“Is that true? Hester, are all dogs born married?”

“Whether they are or not,” said Hester, “it has no biological significance. For my part, I am not concerned with that. As usual, you have allowed yourselves to be diverted by a secondary issue. My concern is with the oatmeal.”

“Oatmeal?” Uncle Homer said. “Oatmeal won’t keep the damn dog from getting pregnant. Will it? If it will, I never heard of it.”

“It won’t keep her from getting pregnant,” said Hester, “but it could keep her from becoming a mother. It could, that is, if it were loaded with arsenic or something.”

“Hester, darling, you’re perfectly right,” Flo said. “Arsenic in Senorita Fogarty’s oatmeal would settle everything satisfactorily.”

“Well, someone go and put it in,” said Uncle Homer. “Lester, you go.”

“Not I,” Lester said. “I was there once, and I absolutely refuse to go back.”

“There’s no great hurry,” said Hester. “I don’t know just what the gestation period for a Chihuahua is, but at least it is long enough to allow us time to proceed carefully. It would never do to fail in this as miserably as Lester has failed in corrupting Mrs. Crump.”

“Well, it will have to be done sooner or later,” Uncle Homer said, “and in my opinion Lester should be required to do it. After all, he is the one who started the whole thing.”

“Like hell,” Lester said. “I won’t do it.”

“Has anyone thought how it’s to be done?” Flo said. “How is it?”

“I don’t know,” said Hester. “I’m trying to think of a way.”

“Maybe you had better have a martini after all,” Uncle Homer said. “It will sharpen your wits.”