Family Happiness Read Online Free PDF

dangerous.
    The big mahogany dining-room table sat twenty with its leaves in. Without, it sat twelve. There was plenty of room for silverware, elbows, and fidgety children. Wendy poured out the coffee, ever mindful that Kirby was being fed under the table. It was hard to dislike Kirby, because he was comical, but Wendy had always felt that dogs belonged in the country, at the homes of others, and should be let free to wander in pastures and fields. In the city they collected fleas and dirt and other unpleasant things on their paws and then brought these paws into contact with one’s rugs.
    Every Sunday she attempted to catch Henry, Jr.’s eye so that he might somehow discourage Andreya from feeding Kirby under the table, but this never worked. Henry had an enormous appetite and, once eating, concentrated on little else. He would start as soon as he sat down, and he bolted his food. He was now doing something else Wendy found objectionable. He and Polly called it “building a sandwich.” They liked to put layer upon layer upon layer of things on a toast point and then eat it in two bites. Wendy, Henry, Sr., and Paul found this disgusting. Polly adored it. In the privacy of her own kitchen she built sandwiches out of the most idiosyncratic ingredients and ate them in two bites, too. Henry Demarest liked a big sandwich, and whole pieces of toast were provided for him. He watched as the sandwich Henry, Jr., was building began to wobble. For an instant it looked as if the whole thing might pitch into his lap. Kirby, ever alert to these potential windfalls, had gotten up under the table. His head rested hopefully on Henry, Jr.’s knee and his tail swished back and forth against Polly’s shins.
    Now that everyone was seated, the conversation officially began. Usually the table divided into the legal half and the silent half, but Henry Demarest and Henry, Sr., had had their legal discussion, and, of course, Paul was away. The table was quieter without Paul, although he usually got through a meal saying little more than “yes” or “no” or “quite,” his favorite expression of noncommittal response. His mere presence gave weight and depth to the legal aspect of the table.
    â€œWhere is Paul, anyway?” Henry, Jr., asked.
    â€œHe’s at the Conference on International Limits,” Henry, Sr., said.
    â€œLa Conférence des Frontières Internationales,” said Wendy, who loved to speak French whenever possible. “I wish Pete and Dee-Dee would start languages.”
    â€œThey have started,” Polly said. “But they barely speak their own language.”
    â€œThey speak beautifully,” Wendy said. “ You children started languages young.”
    â€œI didn’t,” said Henry, Jr. “Pete and Dee-Dee speak everything better than me.”
    â€œThan I,” said Polly. She looked at her children, who sat through this conversation trying not to giggle: she correctly suspected that Kirby was trying to lick their ankles.
    â€œI let Andreya do the speaking,” said Henry, Jr., of his mostly mute wife. “She speaks every language under the sun.” Andreya spoke Czech, German, Russian, and French, but no one had ever heard her say very much of anything in any of these.
    â€œPol,” said Henry, Jr., “pass me the butter. Pass me the toast. Never mind. It’s all on your side anyway. Build me a sandwich, will you?”
    Polly built his sandwich and then passed the silver toast basket to her children.
    â€œDon’t grab, darling,” she said to Pete. “When something is passed to you, you take it gently.”
    â€œI am a woolly beast,” said Pete.
    â€œEven a woolly beast can take a piece of toast without grabbing.”
    â€œNo, they can’t,” Pete said. “They have huge, hairy paws.” He turned to his sister. “Woolly, woolly, woolly,” he growled. Dee-Dee shrieked and gave her