Peter and Veronica Read Free Page B

hook. She’d never find it there.
    In the meantime, Peter put the pamphlet back in the M volume and replaced it on the shelf. Since she’d just dusted, he figured he had about a week’s grace, and in that time he’d make sure to get a key.
    He picked the stamps up off the floor, took out his stamp album, and settled himself at the desk. One of the stamps was from French Equatorial Africa and the other from Liechtenstein. He put a fresh stamp hinge on each of them and pasted them back in their places. He’d been saving stamps since he was nine, and at first Mama had said it was a waste of time and money. But he kept reminding her in the beginning that President Roosevelt also saved stamps and that helped. Last year, when he won second prize in a stamp tournament, she became enthusiastic. That was one thing about Mama. Prizes always made her enthusiastic.
    He turned to his United States stamps and studied his commemorative collection, noting lovingly his first-day cover of the World’s Fair stamp issued in 1939, two years ago. He’d gotten it from Joey Pincus and it had cost him twelve stamps from Brazil, three from Canada, four from the Union of South Africa, and fifty cents besides.
    Somebody knocked on his door. Peter braced himself and said suspiciously, “Who is it?”
    “Me, cookie,” Rosalie said. “Can I come in?”
    “Oh, Rosalie!” Peter jumped up and opened the door for her. “Come On in. Is she still there?” he whispered.
    His sister’s usually cheerful face looked grim. “Yes,” she said, closing the door behind her, “the yenta!”
    Peter studied his sister’s face sympathetically. Mrs. Rappaport probably had been asking her questions about Bernard, her boy friend. She’d been going out with Bernard for nearly a year now, but nothing much seemed to be happening.
    Rosalie was twenty-three and worked as a bookkeeper for a button business. She was small, a little on the plump side, and her broad, pink-cheeked face had a thoughtful, patient look. People said she was a “sweet girl,” which meant that they didn’t think she was pretty.
    “Anyway,” Rosalie said, “what’s my favorite brother up to?”
    “Oh, just looking at my stamps,” Peter said, motioning to the album.
    Rosalie moved over to the desk and stood, studying the stamps. “Mmm,” she said approvingly, “any new ones?”
    “No, I’ve been so busy lately, I haven’t had a chance.”
    “You’re really working hard these days, aren’t you, honey, getting ready for the bar mitzvah?” Rosalie patted his shoulder, and her eyes were tender. “My little brother, growing up so fast.”
    Peter moved away carefully. Rosalie was great and all that, but like Mama, she got mushy at times.
    “Is Bernard coming tonight?” he asked, changing the subject. Bernard had been coming every Friday night for dinner for quite some time, so it was a safe question.
    “Yes,” Rosalie said, looking at her watch. “He’ll be here in a few minutes, so I’d better get ready. We’re supposed to go to a concert tonight, but if that woman doesn’t leave, we’ll never have time to eat.”
    They both heard the sound of a door bang, and smiled at each other in relief. Peter opened the door to his room and shouted, “Is she gone, Mama?” He walked into the living room. Mrs. Rappaport was just standing up, putting on her coat.
    “No, she’s not gone,” said Mrs. Rappaport acidly, “but she’s going now.”
    “Shame on you, Peter,” Mama said weakly. Then she took Mrs. Rappaport’s hand, and said, “You know how it is. He’s hungry and—”
    “Yes,” said Mrs. Rappaport loftily, “I know how it is. Good-by, Peter. Be a good boy and don’t disgrace your parents. Good-by. Good-by.”
    Mama walked her to the door, and when she came back her face was furious. “Such terrible manners!” she yelled. “I was so ashamed, I could have fallen through the floor.”
    “Well, I heard the door slam so I thought she’d left,” Peter said