What's for Dinner? by James Schuyler (to read list .txt) 📕

Patrick yawned widely. “Close your mouth,” his father said, “and keep it shut.”

“Where’s Twing?” Maureen asked in sudden alarm.

“She’s here,” Patrick said. The cat was asleep beside him on the bench. Deirdre wandered into the room, sniffed loudly at the cat and began to lick its ear.

“And the lion shall lie down with the lamb,” Biddy said. “One of my aunts had a canary that she let fly loose, and that bird would drink out of the same bowl as their cat. The cat had been altered.”

“I wasn’t aware,” Norris said, “that that changed their attitude toward their natural prey.”

“As sure as I’m sitting here,” Biddy twisted about in her chair, “that cat never laid a paw on that canary.”

“Oh, I wasn’t doubting your veracity: it was the explanation that surprised me. Perhaps it had an unusually passive nature. There are these exceptions.”

“That cat was as great a mouser as you could hope to meet in a long summer’s day. My aunt used to get quite cross, because I took the side of the mice and wanted to make him let them go. I was very young and understood nothing about germs.”

Lottie stifled a yawn. “Excuse me,” she said, and went out to the kitchen. Norris got up and silently followed her. They returned shortly. Lottie stumbled slightly on the edge of a carpet. The others took no notice.

“We really ought to be running along,” Maureen said.

“Oh no,” Lottie said. “Bryan hasn’t begun to finish his cigar.”

“Yes,” Norris said, “what’s all the rush?”

“It’s partly the boys,” Maureen said. “What with school and training and their music they seem to need a great deal of sleep.”

“Slug-a-beds,” Bryan said. “They can’t sit down to study without falling asleep over their notebooks.”

“I ran two miles before breakfast,” Patrick protested.

“Yes, it’s Michael who’s in love with his pillow,” their mother said fondly. “Sometimes I still have to pull the covers right off him.”

“You ought to give the job of rousting them out to me,” Bryan said, carefully knocking the ash off his cigar. “This seems too fine an object to be used as an ashtray.”

Lottie shrugged. “That’s what my great uncle used it for, and I certainly haven’t any other use for it. I’ll leave it to you in my will.” This was greeted by some rather hollow chuckles.

“I hope we’re not keeping you from any of your favorite TV programs,” Biddy said.

“We hardly turn the thing on,” Norris said, “except for the news, and the odd special event. Like the President’s speech.”

“Oh, did you catch that too?” Maureen said. “I thought he made some telling points.” Norris let this pass, as the two families voted different tickets.

“Yes,” Biddy said, “the novelty wears off. Why I remember when we had a crystal set with earphones, and how the children used to wrangle over who was going to listen. Personally, it would be all the same to me if TV had never been invented.”

“Oh Biddy,” Maureen said, “you know you wouldn’t miss your serials for the world.”

“I hardly know one from the other. But I feel the need of a little rest in the afternoon and since I don’t nap, I like something to occupy my attention. Some of the acting is very well done.”

Maureen laughed. “The other afternoon I heard the most hair raising screams coming from the set, so I went in to see what it was all about. This man was threatening to choke a woman with a necktie and there was Mother Delehantey sound asleep in her chair, literally dead to the world. The moment I turned down the volume, she woke up.”

“Dead to the world,” Biddy said. “I shan’t be sorry to go when my time comes. In fact, I would much rather go than become bedridden and dependent.”

“That’s enough of that,” Bryan said. “You’re a good deal sprier than I am, young woman.”

“I imagine we’ll all be around a while longer,” Norris said. “May I offer anyone a highball?” Demurrers were general.

“What’s in a highball?” Patrick asked.

“Nothing you’re going to have,” Bryan said.

“Whiskey and soda. Or, whiskey and water. In a tall glass,” Norris explained.

“Why is it called a highball?” Michael asked, not to be outdone by his brother.

“The high part is easy,” Norris said, “but I can’t say how the ball got in there.”

“A lot of things have names there isn’t any reason for,” Biddy said. “No one could ever tell me why a surrey was called that. Though I can’t imagine why I wanted to know. ‘The Surrey With the Fringe on Top.’ Now that’s a catchy tune.”

“All the tunes are catchy in Oklahoma. Maureen and I saw it when it was running in New York. And the movie, too, of course.”

“That wasn’t yesterday,” Maureen said. “Which reminds me, Mary Lottie, I was talking on the phone to Mag yesterday. It’s wonderful to me how she does for herself, alone in that big old house. I came right out and said to her—not yesterday, another time—why didn’t she sell the house and move into an apartment? In an apartment, I thought she’d feel the loneliness less, after her husband’s demise.”

“It was so sudden,” Lottie said.

“Yes, wasn’t it. But she says there she knows where she can lay her hand right on anything she wants. She hasn’t a fear in the world of housebreakers. I didn’t like to come out and say it, but what concerned me more was the thought of her having some kind of accident, and all alone there. Like slipping and falling in the tub.”

“Which might also happen in an apartment,” Norris said.

“Oh, with Mag’s personality she’d soon be on terms with all her neighbors. They’d notice if she wasn’t about.”

“Or she could lie in the tub and scream,” Norris said. “That would fetch them.”

“A serious fall is no joking matter,” Maureen said, “not at Mag’s age. But you always like to look on the lighter side, don’t you, Norris.”

“I don’t believe in anticipating trouble. If I started counting up all the things that