The Collected Stories of Richard Yates Read Free

even have mattered very much now if someone from the class had come in and watched, though it was probably just as well that no one did.
    Miss Price sat back more comfortably on the desk top, crossed her legs and allowed one slim stockinged foot to slip part of the way out of its moccasin. “Of course,” she went on, “it always does take a little time to sort of get your bearings in a new school. For one thing, well, it’s never too easy for the new member of the class to make friends with the other members. What I mean is, you mustn’t mind if the others seem a little rude to you at first. Actually, they’re just as anxious to make friends as you are, but they’re shy. All it takes is a little time, and a little effort on your part as well as theirs. Not too much, of course, but a little. Now for instance, these reports we have Monday mornings—they’re a fine way for people to get to know one another. A person never feels he has to make a report; it’s just a thing he can do if he wants to. And that’s only one way of helping others to know the kind of person you are; there are lots and lots of ways. The main thing to remember is that making friends is the most natural thing in the world, and it’s only a question of time until you have all the friends you want. And in the meantime, Vincent, I hope you’ll consider me your friend, and feel free to call on me for whatever advice or anything you might need. Will you do that?”
    He nodded, swallowing.
    â€œGood.” She stood up and smoothed her skirt over her long thighs. “Now I must go or I’ll be late for my lunch. But I’m glad we had this little talk, Vincent, and I hope we’ll have others.”
    It was probably a lucky thing that she stood up when she did, for if she’d stayed on that desk a minute longer Vincent Sabella would have thrown his arms around her and buried his face in the warm gray flannel of her lap, and that might have been enough to confuse the most dedicated and imaginative of teachers.
    At report time on Monday morning, nobody was more surprised than Miss Price when Vincent Sabella’s smudged hand was among the first and most eager to rise. Apprehensively she considered letting someone else start off, but then, for fear of hurting his feelings, she said, “All right, Vincent,” in as matter-of-fact a way as she could manage.
    There was a suggestion of muffled titters from the class as he walked confidently to the head of the room and turned to face his audience. He looked, if anything, too confident: there were signs, in the way he held his shoulders and the way his eyes shone, of the terrible poise of panic.
    â€œSaturday I seen that pitcha,” he announced.
    â€œSaw, Vincent,” Miss Price corrected gently.
    â€œThat’s what I mean,” he said; “I sore that pitcha. Doctor Jack-o’-Lantern and Mr. Hide .”
    There was a burst of wild, delighted laughter and a chorus of correction: “Doctor Jekyll !”
    He was unable to speak over the noise. Miss Price was on her feet, furious. “It’s a perfectly natural mistake !” she was saying. “There’s no reason for any of you to be so rude. Go on, Vincent, and please excuse this very silly interruption.” The laughter subsided, but the class continued to shake their heads derisively from side to side. It hadn’t, of course, been a perfectly natural mistake at all; for one thing it proved that he was a hopeless dope, and for another it proved that he was lying.
    â€œThat’s what I mean,” he continued. “ Doctor Jackal and Mr. Hide . I got it a little mixed up. Anyways, I seen all about where his teet’ start comin’ outa his mout’ and all like that, and I thought it was very good. And then on Sunday my mudda and fodda come out to see me in this car they got. This Buick. My fodda siz, ‘Vinny, wanna go for a little