Sloan Wilson - Man in the Gray Flannel Suit

“Betsy!” he said. “Is there any packing I can help you with?”

“Not a thing! Say, guess what I found today while I was cleaning out the attic!”

“What?”

“Your old mandolin — I packed it in one of the boxes. You ought to get it fixed up. It would be fun.”

“I will sometime,” he said.

“Daddy,” Janey said, “tell us a story about Bubbley.”

“All right,” Tom said. “Once upon a time there was a little dog named Bubbley. He swallowed a cake of soap, and. ”

“Don’t tell it so fast!” Barbara said.

“. every time he barked, he blew bubbles,” Tom said, spacing the words evenly. “One day a man from a circus saw him. ”

He told the story well and repeated it twice upon request.

“WILL GRANDMOTHER BE THERE when we get there?” Janey asked.

It was late Saturday afternoon. They were droning along the Merritt Parkway from Westport to South Bay, with the car packed tightly with suitcases and paper cartons of clothes. Tom had just signed the deed transferring the little house on Greentree Avenue to its new owner, who had seemed overjoyed to get it.

“Grandmother is dead,” Betsy said gently. She had already explained this to the children several times.

“Do dead people ever come back?” Barbara asked.

“No,” Tom said.

“Do they like being dead?” Janey inquired.

“I don’t know,” Tom said.

“Grandmother is in heaven,” Betsy said. “I’m sure she’s happy there.”

The engine of the old Ford was knocking, and the indicator on the dashboard showed it was heating up. Tom slowed down to twenty-five miles an hour and stayed at the extreme right edge of the highway. He had always had a horror of breaking down on the Merritt Parkway with the children along, and of not being able to get the old car off the pavement. Now other cars regularly blared their horns as they flashed by.

“We’ll have to get a new car pretty soon,” Betsy said. Tom didn’t answer.

“Where is Grandmother now?” Janey asked. “What did they do with her when she got dead?”

“Her soul went to heaven,” Betsy said. “Her body has been buried in the cemetery.”

“Does she ever try to get out of the cemetery?”

“No,” Tom said.

“She’s not really in the cemetery,” Betsy said. “Her spirit is in heaven.”

“How long is it going to be before we get there?” Barbara asked.

“Get where?” Tom said.

“Grandmother’s house.”

“About half an hour.”

“Can I have a drink of water?” Janey inquired.

The engine seemed to be knocking louder. Don’t break down now, Tom thought. Not now. Somehow it would have seemed a very bad omen to have the car break down while they were moving to Grandmother’s house.

When they got off the parkway, they stopped at a restaurant and had supper. By the time they reached the winding road leading up the hill to the big house, it was almost dark. The heat indicator on the dashboard of the old car touched the red line marked “danger.” Tom slowed to ten miles an hour, shifted into second gear, and crawled around the sharp turns by the massive outcroppings of rock. The engine kept going. Finally he saw the stone posts, with the tall iron urns on them, turned into the driveway, and shifted into low gear as he passed the grove of oak trees, the carriage house, and the rock garden. Ahead of him the old mansion loomed, silhouetted against the sky. Tom parked the car near the house and cut off the tired engine. Old Edward opened the front door of the house and stood framed in it. “Good evening, Mr. Rath,” he said.

Ever since he could remember, Tom had taken old Edward for granted — he had to think hard to remember his last name, which was Schultz. Now Tom looked at him closely, as though he had never seen him before. Edward was a tall man about sixty-five years old, thin and bent at the shoulders. Deep lines ran from the edges of his nose to the corners of his mouth, and his brow was furrowed. What kind of life has he led? Tom wondered. What has he done all these years when the supper dishes were washed? He remembered his grandmother telling him that Edward kept canaries in his room. Somehow it didn’t seem possible.

Now Edward stood holding the front door open with one hand, his face stern and unwelcoming. The children, tired of being pent up in the car, dashed ahead of their parents into the big house, but, surprised by the dim and somehow eerie light of the front hall, skidded to a stop, rumpling a scatter rug. Tom and Betsy came in, carrying boxes and suitcases. Edward made no motion to help them. When they got inside, he let the front door close softly behind them. “I would like to talk to you, Mr. Rath,” he said.

There was no deference in his manner — that’s why he seemed like an entirely different man. There was also no friendliness. His voice was cold, almost supercilious, perhaps a little mocking, Tom thought, wondering if it were simply his imagination.

“As soon as we get these things put away,” Tom said. Edward stood watching him and Betsy as they carried their bags upstairs. The children, oddly subdued, followed their parents.

“What room shall we put our things in?” Betsy asked, breathing hard.

“Grandmother’s, I guess,” Tom said. “We’ll want the children on the same floor with us, so I guess we won’t use the third floor. If the girls want to stay together we can put them in the large guest room, and Pete can have the room I used to have.”

The door to his grandmother’s room was not latched. Without putting his suitcases down, he pushed it with his toe. It swung open, revealing the big four-poster bed, which looked strangely wide and empty. From the walls of the room old paintings of “The Senator” and “The Major” as children stared from ornate gilt frames. Barbara and Janey, abruptly recovering their spirits, leaped onto the big bed and started jouncing up and down.

“Get off there!” Tom said sharply.

The children looked startled. “Why?” Janey asked.

“We don’t want you to mess up the bed,” Betsy replied kindly. She piled the boxes she had been carrying on a chair.

“I think I’ll go down and talk to old Edward right away,” Tom said.

“What are you going to tell him?”

“I don’t know — that we won’t know what we can do for him for some time, I guess.”

Edward was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. “Let’s go into the living room and sit down,” Tom said.

The old man followed him silently. Tom sat in an armchair, and Edward sank negligently into the rocking chair old Mrs. Rath had always used. Somehow he looked shockingly incongruous there, as he crossed one knee over the other and leaned back.

“You wanted to talk to me?” Tom asked. He thought it would be better to let Edward start.

“When are they going to read the will?”

“Read the will? I don’t know that they are going to. Mrs. Rath’s lawyer has it. Why do you ask?”

“Do you know what she left me?”

“Mrs. Rath spoke to me about you shortly before she died,” Tom said. “She asked me to do what I could for you, and I intend to try. You weren’t mentioned in the will specifically.”

“I wasn’t mentioned! ” Edward said. He leaned forward in his chair.

“I intended to talk to you about it,” Tom said. “As you may know, Mrs. Rath did not leave a great deal. It will be some time before I know precisely what I can do for you, but I assure you I’ll do all I can.”

“I don’t believe it!” Edward replied. “She said she’d remember me in her will!”

“Perhaps Mrs. Rath was a little confused. ” Tom began.

“I don’t believe it! I’ll go to law! I’ve got proof!”