“Yes.”

Lee said, “He’s crammed full to the top with every good thing and every bad thing. I’ve thought that one single person could almost with the weight of a finger—”

Abra bowed her head over her tea. “He asked me to go to the Alisal when the wild azaleas bloom.”

Lee put his hands on the table and leaned over. “I don’t want to ask you whether, you are going,” he said.

“You don’t have to,” said Abra. “I’m going.”

Lee sat opposite her at the table. “Don’t stay away from this house for long,” he said.

“My father and mother don’t want me here.”

“I only saw them once,” Lee said cynically. “They seemed to be good people. Sometimes, Abra, the strangest medicines are effective. I wonder if it would help if they knew Aron has just inherited over a hundred thousand dollars.”

Abra nodded gravely and fought to keep the corners of her mouth from turning up. “I think it would help,” she said. “I wonder how I could get the news to them.”

“My dear,” said Lee, “if I heard such a piece of news I think my first impulse would be to telephone someone. Maybe you’d have a bad connection.”

Abra nodded. “Would you tell her where the money came from?”

“That I would not,” said Lee.

She looked at the alarm clock hung on a nail on the wall. “Nearly five,” she said. “I’ll have to go. My father isn’t well. I thought Cal might get back from drill.”

“Come back very soon,” Lee said.

[4]

Cal was on the porch when she came out.

“Wait for me,” he said, and he went into the house and dropped his books.

“Take good care of Abra’s books,” Lee called from the kitchen.

The winter night blew in with frosty wind, and the street lamps with their sputtering carbons swung restlessly and made the shadows dart back and forth like a runner trying to steal second base. Men coming home from work buried their chins in their overcoats and hurried toward warmth. In the still night the monotonous scattering music of the skating rink could be heard from many blocks away.

Cal said, “Will you take your books for a minute, Abra? I want to unhook this collar. It’s cutting my head off.” He worked the hooks out of the eyes and sighed with relief. “I’m all chafed,” he said and took her books back. The branches of the big palm tree in Berges’s front yard were lashing with a dry clatter, and a cat meowed over and over and over in front of some kitchen door closed against it.

Abra said, “I don’t think you make much of a soldier. You’re too independent.”

“I could be,” said Cal. “This drilling with old Krag-Jorgensens seems silly to me. When the time comes, and I take an interest, I’ll be good.”

“The tarts were wonderful,” said Abra. “I left one for you.”

“Thanks. I’ll bet Aron makes a good soldier.”