The Blunderer Read Online Free PDF Page B

day—because we were both carrying violin cases. Pete plays the violin, too, you know—a little.”
    â€œI didn’t know,” Walter said. “He’s a nice boy.”
    â€œOh, he’s such a nice boy,” she said with so much conviction, Walter felt his own remark had sounded flippant by comparison. “I’d love a little angostura in this drink—if you have any.”
    â€œOf course, we have! Give me your glass.” Walter went into the living-room to the rolling bar, dropped six drops in carefully, and stirred it with a muddler. When he went back on the terrace, Jon was talking with the girl. The girl put her head back and laughed at something Jon had said.
    â€œWalter!” Jon said. “What about Sunday?”
    â€œI’m not sure I can, Jon. It looks like Sunday we’re supposed to—”
    â€œI understand, I understand,” Jon murmured.
    â€œI’m sorry. If I’d—”
    â€œI understand , Walter,” Jon said impatiently.
    Walter glanced at the girl, feeling embarrassed and a little sick. If the girl hadn’t been there, Jon would have said, “Oh, tell Clara to go jump in the lake!” Jon had said that a couple of times in the past, though Walter hadn’t gone along on those occasions, either. Jon wasn’t going to bother saying it much longer, Walter thought.
    â€œListen to me for a minute,” Jon said in the authoritative voice of an editor-in-chief, then he stopped and let his breath out as if it were hopeless.
    The girl had tactfully gone away, was walking down the steps into the garden.
    â€œI know what you’re going to say,” Walter said, “but I have to live with it.”
    Jon smiled his easy smile. He was choosing to say nothing. “By the way, Chad told me to tell you he wants you to come to the party he’s giving next Friday. Dinner at his house, then we go to the theater. His friend Richard Bell is opening in his new play on Friday. There’ll be about six of us. Get away from Clara. It’d do you good. Chad knows he’s in the doghouse with Clara. He doesn’t even want to telephone you out here.”
    â€œAll right, I will.” If Clara excluded Chad, he thought, Chad would exclude Clara.
    â€œYou’d better.” Jon waved a hand at him and went down into the garden.
    Nobody got drunk that night except Mrs. Philpott. She lost her balance and sat down hard in front of the radio-phonograph, but she took it very cheerfully and continued to sit there, listening to the music that Vic Rogers was playing for a small, attentive group. She was still there at 3 a.m. when all but six people had gone home. Clara got exasperated. Clara thought three in the morning was time for any party to break up, but clearly it was the Philpotts who were holding things up, and she could hardly dare drop a hint to the Philpotts.
    â€œLet her enjoy herself,” Walter said.
    â€œI think she’s drunk!” Clara whispered, horrified. “I can’t get her off the floor. I’ve asked her three times.”
    Suddenly Clara marched over to Mrs. Philpott, and Walter watched incredulously as Clara put her hands under Mrs. Philpott’s shoulders and lifted her bodily. Bill Ireton quickly pulled up a chair to catch her. For an instant, Walter saw the look that Mrs. Philpott gave Clara, a look of speechless surprise and resentment.
    Mrs. Philpott shook her shoulders, as if to rid herself of Clara’s touch. “Well! I never knew it was against the law to sit on the floor before!”
    A terrible silence fell in the room. Bill Ireton looked suddenly sober as a trout. Walter came forward automatically to help ease the situation, and began to tell Mrs. Philpott how often he sat on the floor himself.
    Bill Ireton burst out laughing. So did his wife. Everybody roared then, even Mrs. Philpott, everybody except Clara, who only smiled, nervously. Walter put his arm around