“I see you’re still pleasingly plump,” Walter said. George laughed delightedly, his laugh as thin and childish as his voice.

“I live to eat,” he said. Herbie mumbled something in the corner where he apparently preferred to remain. He’d draped a piece of tarpaulin over himself. “That’s right, Herbie,” George said.

“Here’s my wife, Annie,” Walter said. “We’re going to Yosemite for a few days.”

“That’s nice. A nice little wife. Yosemite’s a big place, not much good for anything.”

“We need some pots and pans and a knife or two. I thought maybe you could loan us some gear. We’ll drop it by on our way back to L.A.”

“Fine,” George said. “Come over to the tool shed and we’ll see what we’ve got.” He picked up the kerosene lamp and Walter and Annie followed him. She looked back and caught sight of Herbie crawling heavily into bed, his eyes already closed.

The tool shed had electricity. George blew out the lamp saying it was no use to waste kerosene. He took a duffel bag from a hook and stretched it out on the floor and began to fill it with saucepans, a coffeepot, a frying pan, knives, cups, and tin dishes. He handed Walter a small ax.

“I used to go camping when I was young and there was nothing else to occupy me. You’ll need some blankets. These smell of sheep, but they’ll do. The sleeping bags wore out, Walter. I’ve got some hand lines around here someplace. You like to fish, missus? I hope you got long pants. It’s cold this time of year. You got a job, Walter?”

“I will have.”

“You get to see your dad?” George looked at him steadily as Walter shook his head.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on him. We all get old. You’re the only son he’s got.”

“We didn’t choose each other.”

George looked sad. “You ought not to treat a silly fellow as if he was wicked.”

Walter said, “You don’t see him.”

“Well, that’s different. I don’t like him,” said George.

Walter seized the duffel bag and made for the car, George and Annie following. The bag was tossed into the back seat. Walter got in as George opened the door for Annie. “Nice little wife,” he said soothingly. He peered through the window at Walter.

“You and Herbie doing well with the sheep?” Walter asked. He was twisting the choke button with his left hand, his right still held the small ax. Annie removed it from his grip. He gave her a quick uncertain look.

George’s expression of smiling mildness changed. He turned into an egg with painted features. “We make a living,” he said shortly.

“Come on, Uncle,” Walter said. “I bet you’ve got a fortune stowed away.”

George backed away from the car. “On no account talk of such things!” he cried. “Our business is not yours! Runaway! You have removed yourself from this family! And I have just given you eighty dollars’ worth of camping equipment!”