The Cat Who Knew Shakespeare Read Online Free PDF Page A

“Libraries now have fewer books but a lot of audiovisuals… and champagne parties… and personality all over the place.”
    After lunch Qwilleran walked around the Park Circle to the public library, which masqueraded as a Greek temple. It had been built by the founder of the Picayune at the turn of the century, and a portrait of Ephraim Goodwinter hung in the lobby, although it was partly obscured by a display of new video materials and there was a slash in the canvas that had been poorly repaired.
    The after-school crowd had not yet swarmed into the library with homework assignments, so four friendly young clerks rushed to Qwilleran’s assistance. Young women were always attracted to the man with a luxuriant moustache and mournful eyes. Furthermore, he served on the library’s board of trustees. Furthermore, he was the richest man in town.
    He asked the clerks a simple question, and they all dashed away at once in several directions – one to the card catalogue, one to the local-history shelf, and two to the computer. The answer from all sources was negative. He thanked them and headed for the chief librarian’s office on the balcony.
    Carrying his lumberjack mackinaw and woodsman’s hat, Qwilleran bounded up the stairs three at a time, thinking pleasant thoughts. Polly Duncan was a charming though enigmatic woman, and she had a speaking voice that he found both soothing and stimulating.
    She looked up from her desk and gave him a cordial but businesslike smile. “What a pleasant surprise, Qwill! What urgent mission brings you up here in such a hurry?”
    “I came chiefly to hear your mellifluous voice,” he said, turning on a little charm himself. And then he quoted one of his favorite lines from Shakespeare. “Her voice was ever soft, gentle and low – an excellent thing in woman.”
    “That’s from King Lear, act five, scene three,” she replied promptly.
    “Polly, your memory is incredible!” he said. “I am amazed and know not what to say.”
    “That’s Hernia’s line in act three, scene two, of A Midsummer Night’s Dream… Don’t look so surprised, Qwill. I told you my father was a Shakespeare scholar. We children knew the plays as well as our peers knew the big-league batting averages… Did you go to the funeral this morning?”
    “I observed from the park, and it gave me an idea. According to the phalanx of eager assistants downstairs, no one has ever written a history of the Picayune. I’d like to try it. How much is there to work with?”
    “Let me think… You could start with the Goodwinters in our genealogical collection.”
    “Do you have back copies of the newspaper?”
    “Only for the last twenty years. Prior to that, everything was destroyed by mice or burst steam pipes or mismanagement. But I’m sure the Picayune office has a complete file.”
    “Is there anyone I could interview? Anyone who would remember back sixty or seventy-five years?”
    “You might check with the Old Timers Club. They’re all over eighty. Euphonia Gage is the president.”
    “Is that the woman who drives a Mercedes and blows the horn a lot?”
    “A succinct description! Senior Goodwinter was her son-in-law, and since she has a reputation for brutal candor, she might supply some choice information.”
    “Polly, you’re a gem! By the way, are you free for dinner tonight? Mrs. Cobb is preparing a repast that’s too good for a lonely bachelor. I thought you might consent to share it.”
    “Delighted! I must not stay too late, but I hope there will be time for reading aloud after dinner. You have a marvelous voice, Qwill.”
    “Thank you.” He preened his moustache with pleasure. “I’ll go home and gargle.”
    Turning to leave, he glanced across the balcony to the reading room. “Who’s that man over there – with a pile of books on the table?”
    “A historian from Down Below, doing research on early mining operations. He asked if I could recommend any good restaurants, and I suggested