QED Read Free

was happily conscious of Joanne beside him. Her stride was long and free, a no-nonsense sort of locomotion that managed to emphasize her secondary sex characteristics, which were notable. And not even the wool stockings and the thick-soled walking shoes could spoil as captivating a pair of legs as his connoisseur’s eye had ever studied.
    â€œYou implied that I’m different when I’m happy,” Christopher said.
    â€œYou certainly are.”
    â€œWell, I’ve been feeling different this morning, and I couldn’t figure it. Now I can. I’m not different—I’m the same old swinger I’ve always been. What I am is, I’m responding to a fresh stimulus. You, cousin. It’s you who spell the difference.”
    â€œThank you, sir,” said Jo.
    â€œOh, before this I’ve gone through the battlefield maneuvers with you, but I didn’t actually notice you. You know what I mean?”
    â€œI’m getting a clue,” said Jo warily.
    â€œBut now I am . I mean I’m noticing you , cousin. In the aggregate, as it were, not merely here and there. Am I communicating? What does it mean?”
    â€œIt means you’re bored, and you’ve decided to make a little time to while away your boredom.”
    â€œNot at all. Suddenly you’ve turned into a marvelously desirable piece of goods.”
    â€œAnd you’re the susceptible buyer.”
    â€œNot the way you mean. You forget that I make my way boards-treading. I’m used to desirable women—the theater is lousy with them. So much so that I’ve been in danger of turning monk.”
    â€œThen why are you tickling my hand?”
    â€œBecause I’ve decided against celibacy. With your permission I’ll go further. I’ll put my arm around you.”
    â€œPermission denied. I’ve been through that maneuver before with you, and it leads to a major battle. We’ll sit here on this log for a while and rest. Then we’ll go back.”
    They sat. It was cold. They sat closer—for warmth, Joanne told herself.
    â€œGosh, it’s wonderful,” breathed Christopher in little puffs, like smoke.
    â€œWhat’s wonderful?”
    â€œHow things change. When we were kids I thought you were the world’s biggest stinker.”
    â€œI couldn’t stand you, either. There are times when I still can’t. Like last night.”
    â€œLast night? Why, I was a model of deportment!”
    â€œYou don’t know your father well, do you?”
    â€œFather? As well as anybody.”
    â€œYour gift to him didn’t show it. Nor Ellen’s—Uncle Godfrey hasn’t smoked in years. And you gave him a cane, for heaven’s sake! Don’t you realize Uncle Godfrey’s too proud to use a cane? He’d never admit dependence that way.”
    Christopher Mumford had to admit to himself that her indictment was justified. He had bought the walking stick (on credit) without any real consideration of his father’s needs or wants.
    â€œYou’re right,” he sighed. “What with handling father’s correspondence and puttering around after him in the greenhouse, you’ve come to know him better than his own children.”
    They went on sitting on the log and holding hands. Jo had to hold his hands very firmly.
    January 3: Breakfast was not a ritual at the Mumfords’, but a certain deference was customarily shown to the head of the house. Family and guests, barring illness or improbably late hours the night before, were encouraged to present themselves promptly at 9:00, which was the time Godfrey Mumford invariably appeared.
    Christopher, still floating in his euphoria, came downstairs a good twenty minutes ahead of schedule. He was astonished to find his distaff counterpart in the breakfast room before him. Ellen, the one member of the family traditionally AWOL from the morning meal, on this morning was lounging in a spot of sunshine