Curtain for a Jester Read Online Free PDF

elaborate treats could stay the departing guests.
    But Pam and Jerry North, although they had been among the first to think of leaving, were not among the first to leave. Jerry had, at what should have been a final moment, managed to get himself entrapped in conversation (with the gray-haired woman who had dropped so quickly behind a chair and who seemed to have been startled into complete wakefulness) and even after Pam had retrieved her stole (quite enough wrap for the rigors of the elevator) he had still not fully edged away.
    So they, and Jerry’s conversationalist and Arthur Monteath—who had been drawn aside by Wilmot himself, and who had listened rather than talked—and Baker in his romper suit and Martha Evitts in her weeds were on hand for the final act of the evening. The act was brief, and not pleasant.
    Clyde Parsons came from some shadow. He came staggering. His too narrow tie was pulled to one side, his too pale face was now almost frighteningly white. He swayed as he stopped in front of his uncle and Monteath, as he—with drunken emphasis, looked Wilmot up and down.
    â€œYou’re a bloody old fool,” he said then, and said it loudly. “You can take your lousy money and—”
    Wilmot stopped him, or at any rate drowned out his voice.
    â€œYou’re drunk, Clyde,” Wilmot said, his voice booming. “Drunk as usual.” He smiled still, but there was no smile in his voice. “Get the hell out of here,” he said. “Frank!”
    But there was no need for Frank. Clyde Parsons got himself out of there and his destination, Pam thought as he wavered past her, might well be that indicated. There was hell enough in his thin, pale face. He wavered into the foyer.
    He was at the outer door when the gray-haired woman caught up with him, detained him momentarily. She turned back to look at Wilmot, and she said, flatly, “You do things well, don’t you Byron? Nobody does them better, do they?”
    And then she went, with Parsons.
    â€œGood night,” Baker said then, and said it abruptly, and Martha Evitts said nothing, and did not look at Wilmot and went with Baker. “Sorry about that,” Wilmot said. “We’ve had a good deal of trouble with Clyde. Nice boy, but he will—”
    â€œIt’s been,” Pam North said, “a very interesting party, Mr. Wilmot.” She paused. “So much going on,” she said, and then she went and Jerry after her.
    The elevator door closed when they were just in sight of it. The elevator carried downward, presumably, Parsons and the woman with gray hair, Baker in his rompers and Miss Evitts in dusty black.
    â€œWho,” Pam asked, while they waited, “was your talkative friend?”
    â€œTalkative?” Jerry said. “Oh. You didn’t meet her?”
    â€œAnyway,” Pam said. “She didn’t stick. I mean—”
    â€œYes,” Jerry said. “Well, that was Mrs. Wilmot. The Mrs. Wilmot who used to be. She divorced Wilmot because he put a snake in her bed.”
    â€œAnnoying,” Pam said. “But still.”
    â€œIt wasn’t rubber,” Jerry said. “It was—”
    â€œGood heavens!” Pam North said. “A snake snake?” Jerry nodded. “Divorce was too good for him,” Pam said. “It’s coming now.”
    It was, by its rumble. There was only the sound to prove its progress; the indicator arrow pointed stubbornly to the fifth floor, as it had for a week or more.
    Arthur Monteath joined them while they still waited. He said, “Quite a party.” He looked, Pam North thought, tired, and older than he had looked a few hours before.
    â€œPhew!” Jerry said.
    The elevator door opened and they went into the little box.
    â€œWhy,” Pam said, when the elevator started down, “don’t you stop in and have a drink? Now, I mean. Unless you don’t like cats, of course.”
    â€œI