Read Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) Online
Authors: Travelers In Time
"I
don't
know,"
said
Mrs.
Andrews.
"Who
was
he?"
"He
was
my
brother,
the
one
I've
told
you
about,
the
one
who
was killed
by
that
drunkard
in
the
cemetery."
Mrs.
Andrews
had
never
got
that
story
straight
and
she
didn't
want to
go
into
it
again
now;
the
facts
in
the
tragic
case
and
her
way
of getting
them
mixed
up
always
drove
Andrews
into
a
white-faced
fury. "I
don't
think
we
ought
to
dwell
on
your
nightmare,"
said
Mrs.
Andrews.
"I
think
we
ought
to
get
out
more.
We
could
go
to
the
country for
weekends."
Andrews
wasn't
listening;
he
was
back
at
the
window,
staring
out into
the
street
again.
"I
wish
he'd
go
back
to
France
and
stay
there,"
Andrews
snapped out
suddenly
the
next
morning
at
breakfast.
"Who,
dear?"
said
his
wife.
"Oh,
you
mean
Aaron
Burr.
Did
you dream
about
him
again?
I
don't
see
why
you
dream
about
him
all
the time.
Don't
you
think
you
ought
to
take
some
Luminal?"
"No,"
said
Andrews.
"I
don't
know.
Last
night
he
kept
shoving Alexander
around."
"Alexander?"
"Hamilton.
God
knows
I'm
familiar
enough
with
him
to
call
him by
his
first
name.
He
hides
behind
my
coattails
every
night,
or tries
to."
"I
was
thinking
we
might
go
to
the
Old
Drovers'
Inn
this
weekend,"
said
Mrs.
Andrews.
"You
like
it
there."
"Hamilton
has
become
not
only
my
brother
Walter
but
practically every
other
guy
I
have
ever
liked,"
said
Andrews.
"That's
natural."
"Of
course
it
is,"
she
said.
They
got
up
from
the
table.
"I
do
wish you'd
go
to
Dr.
Fox."
"I'm
going
to
the
Zoo,"
he
said,
"and
feed
popcorn
to
the
rhinoceros.
That
makes
things
seem
right,
for
a
little
while
anyway."
It
was
two
nights
later
at
five
o'clock
in
the
morning
that
Andrews bumbled
into
his
wife's
bedroom
in
pajamas
and
bare
feet,
his
hair
in his
eyes,
his
eyes
wild.
"He
got
him!"
he
croaked.
"He
got
him!
The bastard
got
him.
Alexander
fired
into
the
air,
he
fired
in
the
air
and smiled
at
him,
just
like
Walter,
and
that
fiend
from
hell
took
deliberate
aim—I
saw
him—I
saw
him
take
deliberate
aim—he
killed
him
in cold
blood,
the
foul
scum!"
Mrs.
Andrews,
not
quite
awake,
was
fumbling
in
the
box
containing the
Nembutal
while
her
husband
ranted
on.
She
made
him
take
two of
the
little
capsules,
between
his
sobs.
Andrews
didn't
want
to
go
to
sec
Dr.
Fox
but
he
went
to
humor
his wife.
Dr.
Fox
leaned
back
in
his
swivel
chair
behind
his
desk
and looked
at
Andrews.
"Now,
just
what
seems
to
be
the
trouble?"
he asked.