Thursday The Rabbi Walked Out

18

LAWRENCE GORE EASED HIS CAR SLOWLY DOWN THE DRTVEway, looking carefully from side to side. Gaining the street, he drove to his own house on the outskirts of town to pick up the cartons of the Peter Archer silver.

By eight o'clock he was on the highway heading for Boston, as he drove, he thought of the events of the evening, he was quite certain now that Billy was Jordon's son, he wondered if Billy knew, if that was the reason for his docility, he tried to think of himself at Billy's age. Would he have tolerated such discipline if he had been visiting with a friend of his parents? Or would he have packed up and gone home? But suppose he didn't have a home? That his parents were dead? Or suppose his parents had explained to him that they were indebted to his host and that he must on no account offend him? He smiled wryly as it occurred to him that he himself tolerated a lot from Ellsworth Jordon. But, of course, that was business.

In the distance he saw the lights of a gas station, and he decided to stop there rather than take a chance that there would be another open at this hour, he pulled in and circled well beyond the pumps. Leaving his car, he walked over to the office, and extending a dollar bill, he asked. "Can I have some change so I can use the pay station?"

"It's out of order, the phone company fixes them, and the next day they're on the blink again. Kids come along at night after we close and plug them up so they can get whatever coins have dropped in the meantime. Or sometimes out of pure cussedness."

"Is there another pay station this side of the road before the tunnel?"

"There's one in the office. You can use that." He led the way into the office, and ringing up No Sale on the register, handed Gore change for his bill.

Gore dialed and whistled tonelessly as he waited. When the answer came, he said. "Molly? This is Lawrence Gore. How are you coming along with the report?"

"Well, I've gone over it again and again, but I couldn't make the two columns balance. So I typed it up anyway."

"You sure you put all the items I marked A in one column and the L's in the other?"

"Uh-huh. I’ve checked it and checked it." "Then I must have marked one of them wrong." "Maybe I could ask Herb to look it over and—"

"Oh no, you mustn't do that. Molly,” he said quickly. "It's bank business and strictly confidential."

"Oh, I just thought—well, of course I won't. Was Mr. Jordon angry about your not bringing it with you?"

"You better believe it. I thought he was going to have a fit, all that got me off the hook was that I pointed out that the day extended to midnight. I thought I could get back early enough to pick it up and drop it off to him, but looking over the instructions from the museum. I see they expect to inventory the stuff in my presence, item by item, that can take some time, and I don't think I'll be able to make it."

She could tell that he was concerned. "I could run it up to him right now," she offered. "Except it doesn't balance."

"Oh, well, he'll spot the mistake in a minute, he'll rib me about it when he sees me, but—No. I can't have you do it.

Not where he's—No, you'd be going there alone and—" "You think I'm afraid of him?"

He smiled at her typical Women's Lib reaction, he glanced at the large wall clock. "Well, if you're sure it's no trouble and you don't mind—"

"Not at all. Glad to help out."

"You're a sweetheart."

"I'm doing it for the bank,” she said severely.

"Of course."