“Listening at the door.”
“No you won’t.”
“I will so.”
“You will not.”
“I will so.”
He thought it over.
“All right, don’t say it, and I won’t tell on you if you won’t tell on me.”
“I will if you tell on me.”
“I said I won’t, didn’t I? Not if you don’t tell on me.”
“I won’t if you don’t tell on me.”
“All right.”
They glared at each other.
They heard loud feet on the porch, and the doorbell rang. Upstairs they heard their mother cry “Oh, goodness!” They ran to the door. He blocked Catherine away from the knob and opened it.
A man stood there, almost as tall as Daddy. He had a black glaring collar like Dr. Whittaker but wore a purple vest. He wore a long shallow hat and he had a long, sharp, bluish chin almost like a plow. He carried a small, shining black suitcase. He seemed to be as disconcerted and displeased as they were. He said, “Oh, good morning,” in a voice that had echoes in it and, frowning, glanced once again at the number along the side of the door. “Of course,” he said, with a smile they did not understand. “You’re Rufus and Catherine. May I come in?” And without waiting for their assent or withdrawal (for they were blocking the door) he strode forward, parting them with firm hands and saying “Isn’t Miss L…”
They heard Aunt Hannah’s voice behind them on the stairs, and turned. “Father?” she said, peering against the door’s light. “Come right in.” And she came up as he quickly removed his oddly shaped hat, and they shook hands. “This
