Ten North Frederick (49 page)

“I wasn't thinking of school, I was thinking of his rudeness to me. He should be getting a good spanking, he's not too old for that.”

“Well, don't look at me. I'm not going to do it. If you want to, go ahead.”

“You know perfectly well I won't. He's too strong. And you're too weak. Too soft with them, both of them.”

“Oh, cut it out, Edith.”

“All right, I'll cut it out, I won't say a word, I'll leave everything in your hands.”

“You've said that before,” said Joe. “Always when we have some small crisis over something that happened at school. I'm the one who was too soft with them. When everything's going well I don't hear any of these renunciations of authority, but when something happens, it's because I've been too soft with them. Maybe if I
weren't
so soft with them we wouldn't have these long periods where they seem to behave themselves.”

“Seem to. You don't know everything that happens.”

“Well, why don't you tell me?”

“Because you're at your office, or somewhere in the western part of the state, playing golf with your politicians.”

“If I'm neglecting the children I'd like to know about it.”

“Well, today's an example,” said Edith. “It just happened that you were here and not in Pittsburgh when Joby was sent home from school.”

“That's never happened before,” said Joe.

“Not suspension, no. But other things. It isn't the first time he's been punished, or Ann either, for that matter.”

“Let's confine this to Joby,” said Joe.

“Suit yourself. Ann has been caught smoking too, but you weren't here to hear about that.”

“I was here when I got home, and you could have told me then,” said Joe.

“When it's something about Ann you don't like to listen,” said Edith.

“She's sixteen,” said Joe. “If what I hear is true, we're very fortunate that our daughter's worst crime is smoking. I'd be more worried about her drinking this bootleg liquor.”

“Would you?”

“Yes. Are you implying that she does drink?”

“I'm not implying anything.”

“Then let's get back to Joby. How do you propose to punish him? Cut off his allowance?”

“Yes, or reduce it. Cut it in two. But something else, something to do with smoking.”

“Make the punishment fit the crime, the punishment fit the crime.”

“If we don't, when he goes to boarding school they won't just suspend him. They'll send him home for good.”

“I know,” said Joe.

They agreed on cutting Joby's allowance, but they never did find an appropriate punishment for smoking, and Joby was back in school in a week's time.

 • • • 

While he did not return a school hero, he had become a school celebrity. “Hey, Joby, got a cigarette?” the boys would say. He had the ephemeral nickname Lucky, after the cigarette brand. He was invited to join other boys in a smoke and he accepted the invitation if it did not mean smoking on school property. By degrees he became identified with the rebellious element, who were also the physically unattractive: the pimply, the fat, the bespectacled. There was a boy who was a source of supply for obscene versions of comic-strip characters; another boy who often got into bed with a housemaid; another boy who prowled the woods looking for embracing lovers; another boy who frequently carried a loaded .
25
automatic; another boy who always had money provided by a middle-aged gardener. The last-mentioned boy said that the other boys could make fifty cents any time they wanted to, and it would not hurt but kind of tickle. But a boy who had once taken up the offer said that that was not all the gardener wanted, and the offer was closed when the gardener was sent to prison, where he hanged himself, and the boy sent to a distant boarding school where there were other boys who had known generous gardeners. The departure of the gardener and the boy was a fortunate accident for Joby, whose allowance had been cut to half of the fifty cents he might have earned from the gardener. On a quarter a week he was even more in debt than usual to Ann, Marian, his Uncle Cartie, and his cronies. For the remainder of his stay at Gibbsville Country Day, Joby was in debt, he was a member of a “crowd,” he stayed out of discovered trouble, and he made passing or better grades in all studies. He was coolly polite to Mr. Koenig (who, to be sure, was more than happy to be able to report a total regeneration to the boy's parents), he forced himself to acquit himself adequately in the classroom, he did nothing that would jeopardize his chances of going to boarding school, where there would be a new life and new people, and where it would be fun. So far, in his thirteen years, he had not had much fun.

 • • • 

It was Joe Chapin's custom to make all important announcements at the dinner table, provided they were not unpleasant announcements that might upset the digestion of the food. The custom made for interesting and amiable dinner conversation, as well as being the only time of day when the entire family were sure to be together.

On an evening in the spring of
1928
he smoothed out his napkin on his lap and said: “This is Station JBC Senior about to broadcast.”

They looked at him expectantly.

“I wish to make an important announcement to my millions of listeners at this table.”

Some laughter by Ann and Joby.

“First, bad news,” said Joe.

“Oh,” said Ann, with an exaggerated groan.

“The bad news, however, will be quickly followed by the good, so if Miss Chapin, of Gibbsville, Pennsylvania, will please remove her chin from her soup, let us proceed with the announcement.”

“Chin removed. Matter of fact, wasn't
in
the soup,” said Ann.

“Almost, though. It certainly dropped when I said I had bad news,” said Joe. “Well, the bad news, not really bad, is that Mother and I have talked to each other about the whole family going abroad this summer.”

“Us too?” said Joby.

“The whole family. Mr. and Mrs. Joseph B. Chapin, Miss Ann Chapin, and Mr. Joseph B. Chapin Junior. No dogs, cats or other livestock.”

“But we're not going. That's the bad news,” said Ann.

“You are correct, Miss Ann Chapin. You are interrupting, but you are correct. The reason we are not going this summer is that I am going to have to go to the Republican National Convention, which is always in the summer, and there would be no point in my going to Kansas City in the middle of our trip abroad. So, this is the good part of the announcement—we are going abroad next year.”

“All of us?” said Joby.

“The whole kit and kaboodle. Now the reason why I'm making the announcement a year ahead of time is because I would like this whole family, myself included, to brush up on our French. And secondly, I think it might be fun if we all studied up on England and France and Italy and learned something about the interesting places we're going to visit.
I've
never been to Europe,
Mother's
never been to Europe—”

“Mother's never been to Chicago, Illinois,” said Edith.

“I've never been to Pittsburgh,” said Ann.

“I've never been to Boston, and you have,” said Joby.

“Only once when I was little,” said Ann.

“Well, the Swiss Family Chapinson will start their traveling next year,” said Joe.

“Burn my clothes! Wait till I tell the bunch,” said Ann.

“What was that expression?” said Joe.

“Oh, it's just an expression,” said Ann.

“It's a very expressive expression,” said Joe. “Where did that come from?”

“Oh, it's nothing.”

“But where did you get it?” Joe persisted.

“It's an expression they use in the South.”

“When did you visit the South? I don't seem to remember your taking any Southern trips lately,” said Joe.

“There's a new girl at school, they just moved to town. She doesn't mean anything by it.”

“No, and I'm sure you don't, but it isn't ladylike,” said Joe. “I don't think the French would like to hear a young American girl say
Fumez mes robes
, or whatever the French is. In fact I'm sure the French have no such expression.”

“Oh—from what I hear, the French have worse than that,” said Ann.

“
Je suis très désolé,
” said Joe. “My daughter is too sophisticated.
Elle est très blasée
”

“You better go back to Yale and take your French over again,” said Ann.

“
Je suis très désolé, elle est très blasée
. Woe is me,” said Joe.

“I can understand the last part,” said Ann.

“Yes, and I can understand ‘burn ma clothes,' honey,” said Joe.

“It's just an expression, Father,” said Ann.

They smiled.

 • • • 

There are the luxuries that the rich can afford, and there are the simplicities that the rich can afford if they are the kind of rich who are sure of themselves. The unsure rich buy the luxuries that the sure-of-themselves can do without. When Joe Chapin bought a Dodge for use on the farm he bought a sturdy, inexpensive, hard-riding, economical, clean-lined car. It was what he needed, and it was not a Marmon or a Mercer—or a Ford. It was a car with a tricky gear shift, different from the standard shift and the Buick shift. And because Joe Chapin had bought a Dodge, a lot of people bought Dodges who had the money to buy Lincolns. If it was good enough for Joe Chapin . . . He still had the Dodge in
1928
, when he and Edith made a kind of “Dodge” decision.

The decision concerned a school for Ann, who had been at Miss Holton's for thirteen years and was eager to go to boarding school. There were the obvious schools—Foxcroft, St. Timothy's, Farmington, Westover, Shipley, Madeira's, Irwin's. There was some discussion over sending her to live with the Alec Weekses while she attended Spence or Miss Chapin's. Edith's old school, Miss Hannah Payne's, had ceased to exist, and if Miss Chapin's or Spence meant Ann's living with the Weekses, those schools were ruled out by Edith, and Ann promptly gave up the idea of a couple of winters in New York City. “We could talk for years and never get anywhere,” said Joe. “Ann, you say you don't want to go to college. Well, your mother and I think you ought to, but we're not going to insist on it, and if we don't insist on it, you won't go. So when we consider a school, we needn't bother about its record as a college preparatory school. A finishing school is what we're looking for. I think it ought to be in the country, but near one of the larger cities. But does it have to be one of the more fashionable schools, so called? There are some good schools that we haven't got down on this list. Do you know a school I always liked? Oak Hill. I don't know much about it, but on the other hand, I don't know a single thing against it. It's Episcopal, and about halfway between Philadelphia and New York. Near Princeton, as a matter of fact. It isn't a Foxcroft or a Westover, but as long as I can remember, back when I was at New Haven, and even when I was at The Hill, I've known girls from the nicest families that went to Oak Hill. Shall we look into it, or is your heart set on one of the others?”

“I don't know, I might like Oak Hill better,” said Ann. “I don't really care where I go, just so I go. Thirteen years at Miss Holton's . . .”

They went by motor to have a look at Oak Hill, and on the way home Joe, who was sitting with Harry, asked Ann how she liked the place.

“I think it's swell,” she said. “I liked Miss Ringwald and the girls I met seemed nice. I thought it was swell. I'd like to go there.”

“Miss Ringwald said you could take the college preparatory in case you should change your mind.”

“I won't. Father, if I went to college I'd be twenty-three by the time I got out. Twenty-
three!
Fan ma brow.”

“If you changed your mind, you could be out of college at twenty-two. Don't forget your Miss Holton's credits,” said Edith.

“But the college boards, Mother. And anyway, twenty-
two
is almost as bad as twenty-
three
, although not quite. I don't think I'm the studious type, if you know what I mean, and
you
didn't go to college, Mother. It's all right for a man, a man has to. But not a girl. Joby can go, he can collect all the laurels. He's bright.”

Oak Hill it was, and a timely choice, for shortly after her acceptance of Oak Hill and Oak Hill's acceptance of Ann, the incident of the butcher's delivery truck occurred.

 • • • 

“You talk to her,” said Edith. “I can't get anything out of her.”

Ann was sent to her father's den.

“Ann, what really happened? I'm your father, and I think you know I love you and will back you to the hilt, but we must know what happened.”

“Father, do I have to go over all that again? I've told you, I've told Mother. I've told you both twice.”

“I would like to hear it again in full detail,” said Joe.

“He stopped. The boy, Tommy, or young man. He asked us if we wanted to go for a ride and we said all right. I know it was wrong, but we got in the truck and drove down country and we got stuck in the mud.”

“And there you sat?”

“And there we sat.”

“And he made no effort to get the car out of the mud?”

“No,” said Ann. “At first we didn't know we were stuck.”

“You didn't? Why not?”

“Because we just stopped on the side of the road and we smoked some cigarettes and laughed and talked.”

“You and Sara Stokes and the driver,” said Joe. “No other young man present?”

“No, just the three of us.”

“And all this time the young man never made any advances, never got fresh with you?”