City Boy (46 page)

“There's no doubt whatever,” said Powers. “Mr. Glass, let's get on with the contracts, shall we? The blue paper is stolen and gone.”

“It ain't stolen,” Herbie insisted loudly.

All the adults stared at him now.

“How do you know so much, young man?” said the lawyer impatiently.

“Because I stole the fifty dollars from the Place myself. And I didn't take no box!”

Now the fat was in the fire. In the hubbub of questions and cries, Mrs. Bookbinder ran to the boy's side and put her arm around him.

Haltingly at first, and then with a freer flow as the grownups grew silent with amazement, Herbie told the story of his midnight adventure. He confessed to the eavesdropping that had given him the idea. He explained his motive of getting money to build the Ride. He emphasized that he had intended to return the money, describing the note he had written but failed to leave, and he narrated the treachery of Mr. Gauss, without trying to excuse himself on that account. He omitted the parts played by Cliff and Clever Sam, and he did not mention the scene between Krieger and Powers which he had witnessed from the refrigeration vault. It took him many minutes to unburden himself. Midway, his father dropped his perspiring hand and leaned with both elbows behind him on the buffet, regarding his son with a mixture of perplexity and anger which did not increase the boy's ease. The others listened in various attitudes of astonishment, now and then stopping the boy with brief questions. Lawyer Glass did most of the questioning. At last Herbie carried his confession to the end, concluding breathlessly, “So that's how I done it, an' I'm glad I told, even if I do hafta go to reform school now.
But I didn't take no box.
”

Mrs. Bookbinder, eyes wet and face flushed, pulled him close against her side and said, “You won't have to go to reform school.”

The men looked at each other wonderingly.

Powers spoke first. “I think the boy has imagined the whole thing. He supposes he's being a hero. It's an utterly incredible story.”

Jacob Bookbinder had not taken his eyes off his son. Now he said in a hoarse, harsh voice, “Herbie, you have been the laziest boy in the Bronx all your life. If you did all those crazy things, what did you do them for?”

Herbie glanced at the lawyer, blushed, and transferred his gaze to the floor.

“Come, come, boy,” said Mr. Glass, “nobody will hurt you if you speak the truth—speak the truth. Why did you do all this?”

Still no answer.

“Tell us, Herbie, please,” said his mother softly. “You must tell us.”

Herbie saw no way out. Scarlet-faced, he blurted, “All right. I wanted to make a hit with Lucille Glass.”

All the grownups except Powers burst out laughing. It may seem surprising that they did so at such a grim time, but that is how people are. Anyone who has attended a funeral knows of the boisterous laughter in the coaches coming from a cemetery. It is a safety-valve action. The hilarity faded quickly, and Jacob Bookbinder said, “Now, if he didn't take the box, the next question is, where is it?”

“When I was hidin' in the ice room,” said Herbie, “I seen Mr. Krieger an' Mr. Powers standin' in front o' the open safe, arguin' over it. Mr. Krieger was holdin' the box—”

Krieger interrupted, his voice shrill. “All right, wait, all honest men. I know facts, explain better. Yes, sure I keep box. Protect you, Jake, only protect you. Powers like iron, say burn up paper one two three. Blue paper safe now because I protect—”

“Krieger, you're a damned liar!” shouted Powers, pounding the dining-room table so that the dishes rattled and two éclairs rolled to the floor. Mrs. Bookbinder instinctively dived for the éclairs, exclaiming, “Please, gentlemen, the child, the child!”

“Herbie, go to your room and get undressed,” said his father. It was bright and early in the afternoon, and the order boded ill. Herbie started to slink from the room.

Mr. Burlingame ran a flat palm once over his naked pate and picked up his hat from a chair. “Mr. Bookbinder, you have a remarkable son, remarkable. Will you please understand, gentlemen, that Interborough withdraws completely from this negotiation? We don't want to buy Bronx River on any terms. The best of luck to all of you.”

Powers jumped in front of him, barring his exit from the dining room, and also preventing the boy from leaving. Herbie fell back into a corner and tried to look invisible.

“Mr. Burlingame, that memorandum of my father's is meaningless. Glass says so, and Sullivan of Guarantee Building and Loan says so. I can prove it in court. This business of the robbery is a silly misunderstanding. You can't withdraw from a closed deal, sir, because of the wild talk of an eleven-year-old boy.”

Mr. Burlingame donned his hat and pulled it down firmly. “Bob, the Bronx River property is not wanted without the good will and continued management of Bookbinder, as I told you. And Interborough doesn't buy a property with the slightest question as to title. I knew your father, Bob. He wouldn't have been pleased with this day's work. Kindly excuse me.”

Powers stepped aside. Mr. Burlingame went out. The young man's handsome face became greenish-pale. He dropped into a chair, and covered his eyes with one hand, pressing his thumb and finger into the corners.

“Oh, come, Bob,” said Mr. Glass, stepping quickly to his side and putting a hand on his shoulder, as the outer door was heard closing. “It's nothing that serious—nothing that serious.”

Powers looked up at the rotund lawyer. His shoulders drooped. Tears stood in his eyes. Herbie had never before seen a man show visible grief. He stared at the scene from his corner between the bureau and the wall.

“Property is property,” added the attorney, patting Powers' shoulder. “Property is property. Your interest in Bronx River is still worth fifty thousand, easily.”

“Find me a buyer for thirty,” said Powers in a choked voice. “Why do you suppose I've been pushing this thing, Louis? I've got to have thirty thousand dollars cash. Oh, God, what a mess!”

The lawyer nodded gravely. He said in tones that Herbie could barely hear, “Bob, is it that Montauk business I advised you against?”

Powers answered with a short nod. Mr. Glass pulled down the corners of his mouth, and looked at Bookbinder.

“What's done is done. How about it?” he said. “Here's your chance to comer all the equity cheaply—all the equity cheaply. Will you buy Bob out for thirty?”

Herbie's father turned his palms outward in the eternal gesture which means “No weapons” among savages and “No funds” among civilized men. The lawyer glanced toward Mr. Krieger, but the partner was looking steadily out of the window, keeping his face hidden from the others.

“Herbie!” said Jacob Bookbinder all at once, as his eyes chanced on his son. The fat boy jumped, and ran for the door. “I told you ten minutes ago to go to your room and get undressed. Now do as I say or—”

But Herbie heard no more. His scuttling little legs had already carried him out of the dining room and into the bedroom, where he closed the door after him.

A
few minutes later Mrs. Bookbinder came into Herbie's room. She found her son in crisp fresh yellow pajamas, lying face downward on his bed. She sat beside him softly and caressed his shoulder, saying, “What's the matter, Herbie?”

The boy turned over and sat up. He was dry eyed, but his look was despairing.

“Matter? Holy smoke, Mom, that's a heck of a question.”

“You won't go to reform school, my boy. Mr. Glass is a big man. He'll go to the police and explain the whole thing. Nothing will happen to you.”

“Yeah. Maybe not.” Herbie appeared not at all reassured as he drew up his knees, rested his elbows on them, and placed his chin in his hands. “But I stole, didn't I?”

“Herbie, what happened to the note?”

“What note?”

“The note you said you were going to leave in the safe, promising to return the money. Did you really write one, or was that a lie?”

“Sure I wrote it,” said Herbie indignantly. “I'd of left it, too, if Mr. Krieger an' Mr. Powers hadn't come back so soon that night. They drunk their coffee awful fast, that's all I gotta say.”

“Well, where is it now?”

“I dunno. I had it in my suit in one o' the pockets. I guess maybe it's still there.”

Mrs. Bookbinder rose and searched the pockets of his jacket.

“What's this?” she said, pulling out the cardboard box.

“Gosh! I bet he's dead!” Herbie jumped up, took the box, and opened it. The lizard was stirring. He picked up the little pink reptile by its tail and set it on the bed. Frightened by the sudden change, the lizard stood still, its chin-pouch palpitating. Herbie lay beside the creature and studied it. Mrs. Bookbinder, muttering about the things boys brought into the house, went through the pockets of Herbie's trousers. From a back pocket she extracted a crumpled sheet of yellow paper.

“That's it,” said Herbie, looking up as he heard the paper crackle. Mrs. Bookbinder unfolded the paper, smoothed it, and read:

WE ARE THECREEK GET GANG AND 1 OF OUR GANG NEEDS AN
OPERATION
THAT COSTS $50 SO WE ARE
BORROWING
NOT STEALING $50 FROM YOUR SAFE.YOU'LL GET THE $50 BACK BY MAIL NEXT WEEK WITHOUT FAIL SO DON'T CALL THE POLICE ORNOTHING BECUASE YOU'LL GET THE $50
BACK
. WITH INTEREST MAKING IT $75.

the creek gang.

When the mother had absorbed the contents of this interesting document, she ran to Herbie and interrupted his study of natural history to hug and kiss him.

“God bless you, my boy. You meant well.”

“Yeah,” said Herbie, enduring the affection without response.

“Why did you sign it the Creek Gang?”

“What was I gonna do?” said Herbie, talking as best he could with his head muffled against his mother's bosom. “Sign my own name? I just wanted Pop to know he was gonna get paid back.”

“That's right, of course. It was all that rotten Mr. Gauss's fault. I'll never send you back to that terrible camp.”

Herbie broke from her arms just in time to save the lizard from diving over the edge of the bed. He placed the creature carefully in the middle of the bedspread.

“Where's Pop?” he inquired uneasily.

“Still busy with the men.” The mother sat on the bed once more.

“Ma, hasn't Pa got thirty thousand dollars to buy out that rotten Mr. Powers?”

“Hush, what business is that of yours? What do you know about money? It'll be healthier for you to keep your nose out of Papa's affairs from now on. … You listen to me, I want to talk to you about—”

“But is Mr. Powers still here? What's happening, Ma? Gosh, I wanna know—”

“Mr. Glass is on the telephone in the kitchen, talking to I don't know who. That's none of your affair. What I want to know, Herbie, is—are you really—I don't know what to say. Interested in this Lucille Glass?”

Herbie barely nodded. He stroked the lizard's back with one finger.

“Don't you think you're a little young to be—interested—in girls?”

Another nod, even barer.

“Mind you, I have nothing against Lucille. She's a nice little girl, although, she's very spoiled. And I must say I don't see that she's pretty. But I suppose you think she is.”

A slight motion of the head, which might be a nod or the bobbing occasioned by a deep breath.

“Well, there's no harm in it. Just so long as you understand that it doesn't mean anything at all, and that you'll both forget all about it in a couple of weeks.”

Herbie and the reptile in equal states of immobility.

“You do understand that, don't you?”

Herbie found himself wishing his mother would go to the market, or to the movies, or on any other mission that would require her immediate removal from the room.

“I'm telling you this just for your own good, my boy. Lucille is much too old for you, first of all. When you're sixteen and a half, she'll be sixteen. A boy that age is still a baby. A girl of sixteen can get married. I married Papa when I was seventeen.”

Herbie picked up the lizard in his palm and gave him an intense inspection.

“Well, what have you got to say, Herbie?”

The boy said “Mmmm” in a dry tone that conveyed no meaning at all.

“Good,” said the mother quickly. “I'm glad you agree with me. You're a sensible boy.”

She fell to patting Herbie's hair. He ignored the caresses and concentrated on the lizard. Restored to air and light, the animal had become more lively. It scuttled around in the boy's palm and tried to climb up his curving fingers. Herbie felt sorry for the rosy, gold-spotted creature, which seemed so out of place in the narrow Bronx bedroom. The lizard brought back visions of the bright broad skies of Manitou, and the fields, and the lake, and the mossy rocks along the shore where the boy had captured his living souvenir. How cramped and small the apartment seemed to Herbie, and the street outside the window, too! Everything in the city seemed to have shrunk to half its size during the summer.