Didn’t anyone in this family use public transport? When the nanny took young Gorham, Jr., or his siblings to any of their appointments, she took a taxi. When Bella ran errands for Maggie, she probably took a taxi too. At least, he thought, it cost less than having your own car and driver, which several of the people in the building did.

The Masters kept just two cars. The Mercedes sedan in the garage round the corner, and a nice blue SUV for Maggie, which lived in the garage of the country house.

“Getting in and out of Yankee Stadium can be a hassle,” he said firmly. “The subway will be quicker.”

As they rode in the subway, Gorham looked at the three boys with affection.

Gorham Vandyck Master, Jr., a thirteen-year-old, fair-haired son of privilege; Richard, eleven years old, a thinner, wirier version of his brother; and young Gorham’s best friend, Lee.

Gorham could never figure out Lee’s Chinese name exactly, but it didn’t matter, because everyone called him Lee. He had met Lee’s parents one time when they had come to collect him from the apartment. They lived up in Harlem, hardly spoke a word of English; the father was a plumber or something. But their son was a genius.

It always seemed to Gorham Master that Lee was totally round. His friendly face, under a mop of black hair, was round. His body wasn’t fat, just round. His temper was so easy that Master reckoned his psyche must somehow be round, so that everything bounced off it. Lee took the subway from Harlem each morning and, Master was convinced, just turned himself into a ball and rolled along the sidewalk from the station to the school.

But Lee wrote the best essays in his grade. He’d surely finish up at Harvard or Yale or some Ivy League place. And what did he want to be? Once, when they were all sitting in the kitchen, the boy had confessed that he’d like to be a senator. He also wanted to be a big collector of Chinese art. “And you know what,” Master had told his son afterward, “he’ll probably make it.” And the thought filled Master with pride for his country and his city.

And how did this kid come to be at his son’s fancy private school? With a scholarship, of course. Maybe twenty percent of the kids there were on scholarships.