you're wearing the sweater today."
"Yes, it's Wednesday. I always wear the sweater on Wednesdays."
"Hold up your arms," Tim instructed him. "Like this."
Tim demonstrated, holding each arm out and bent, as if someone were aiming a gun at him. Barnaby A imitated him. The overly long sweater sleeves flopped over his hands.
"Good," said Tim, examining his pose. "Now pull the neck of the sweater up over your head," Tim said, and Barnaby A did so.
"Excellent. Relax for a minute now. Then get that largish wastebasket from Father's study and stand in it, in your pose."
Barnaby A did so. They all looked at him, and Tim said, "Perfect. You are camouflaged as a cactus. Place yourself in a corner of the dining room, and when the doorbell rings, announcing the prospective buyer, assume your pose. Choose a place by a sunny window. Cacti prefer sun."
"What if someone tries to water me or test my prickers?" Barnaby A asked in a muffled voice.
"They won't," replied Tim. "I am setting up a notice that says: STAY AWAY. THIS HIGHLY POISONOUS CACTUS EMITS TOXIC FUMES ."
"Might I be a cactus, too?" Jane asked, watching as Barnaby A, sweater sleeves dangling, went off to the dining room with his wastebasket.
"No, dodo. You will be a lamp. Here. Let me just look in this closet..." Tim went to the hall closet and stood on tiptoe to find something on a high shelf. "Good. She left it behind. Here you are, Jane." He opened a large hatbox and handed Jane their mother's going-to-church hat, which was dark brown straw in the shape of a bowl.
"Kneel on that table there, beside the sofa," Tim directed his sister. She climbed up and knelt on the table.
"It hurts my knees," Jane whimpered.
Tim thought it over. "All right," he said. "Squat. And hunch."
Jane squatted and hunched.
"Good. Here's your lampshade," Tim said. He lowered the large hat onto her head. It covered her face.
"I can't see!" Jane said in a worried voice.
"Lamps don't need to see," Tim replied. "When the doorbell rings, assume that pose and hold very still while the prospective buyer comes through."
Jane lifted her shade slightly and peered out. "What if someone tries to turn me on?" she asked nervously.
"Good thought, Jane!"Tim said.'I'm going to give you ten points today, for thinking of that possibility!
"And I give myself twenty points," he added, "for finding the solution." He went to his father's desk, used a pen and paper, and returned to the table where Jane was still kneeling, with a note in his hand.
THE ELECTRICITY IN THIS HOUSE IS DEFECTIVE AND MAY ELECTROCUTE YOU IF YOU TURN ON A LAMP, said the note that Tim had printed. He placed it by Jane's feet. "When they come through," he told her, "hold very still. Don't let that shade wobble. And make yourself as thin as possible."
"How much time do we have?" Barnaby B asked uneasily. "I don't have a camouflage yet. I wish it had been my day for the sweater."
"Don't be a worrywart, B," Tim said. "Come out here to the hall. Stand there by the door and hold your arms up."
Barnaby B did so, and Tim hung overcoats, taken from the hall closet, over his arms. "There," he said. "You are a coat tree."
"Will people fling coats over me? I might sneeze—or suffocate," Barnaby B said.
"No one will. I will prepare a notice that says: THE FURNACE IN THIS HOUSE IS DEFECTIVE. WEAR YOUR COAT. DO NOT HANG UP YOUR COAT OR YOU WILL FREEZE ."
"But my face shows," Barnaby B complained.
Tim took his father's felt hat, the one he wore to the bank each day, and hung it over Barnaby B's face. "There," he said.
"It doesn't smell nice," Barnaby B said in a muffled voice.
"That's because of the sweatband," Tim explained. "All men's hats have sweatbands inside. They smell nasty. Just hold your breath and you won't notice. Now: practice being motionless, all of you," he called, so that they could hear him in the other rooms.
It was silent as the children remained motionless in their poses. Tim went to the closet again.
"Tim?" called a
"Yes, it's Wednesday. I always wear the sweater on Wednesdays."
"Hold up your arms," Tim instructed him. "Like this."
Tim demonstrated, holding each arm out and bent, as if someone were aiming a gun at him. Barnaby A imitated him. The overly long sweater sleeves flopped over his hands.
"Good," said Tim, examining his pose. "Now pull the neck of the sweater up over your head," Tim said, and Barnaby A did so.
"Excellent. Relax for a minute now. Then get that largish wastebasket from Father's study and stand in it, in your pose."
Barnaby A did so. They all looked at him, and Tim said, "Perfect. You are camouflaged as a cactus. Place yourself in a corner of the dining room, and when the doorbell rings, announcing the prospective buyer, assume your pose. Choose a place by a sunny window. Cacti prefer sun."
"What if someone tries to water me or test my prickers?" Barnaby A asked in a muffled voice.
"They won't," replied Tim. "I am setting up a notice that says: STAY AWAY. THIS HIGHLY POISONOUS CACTUS EMITS TOXIC FUMES ."
"Might I be a cactus, too?" Jane asked, watching as Barnaby A, sweater sleeves dangling, went off to the dining room with his wastebasket.
"No, dodo. You will be a lamp. Here. Let me just look in this closet..." Tim went to the hall closet and stood on tiptoe to find something on a high shelf. "Good. She left it behind. Here you are, Jane." He opened a large hatbox and handed Jane their mother's going-to-church hat, which was dark brown straw in the shape of a bowl.
"Kneel on that table there, beside the sofa," Tim directed his sister. She climbed up and knelt on the table.
"It hurts my knees," Jane whimpered.
Tim thought it over. "All right," he said. "Squat. And hunch."
Jane squatted and hunched.
"Good. Here's your lampshade," Tim said. He lowered the large hat onto her head. It covered her face.
"I can't see!" Jane said in a worried voice.
"Lamps don't need to see," Tim replied. "When the doorbell rings, assume that pose and hold very still while the prospective buyer comes through."
Jane lifted her shade slightly and peered out. "What if someone tries to turn me on?" she asked nervously.
"Good thought, Jane!"Tim said.'I'm going to give you ten points today, for thinking of that possibility!
"And I give myself twenty points," he added, "for finding the solution." He went to his father's desk, used a pen and paper, and returned to the table where Jane was still kneeling, with a note in his hand.
THE ELECTRICITY IN THIS HOUSE IS DEFECTIVE AND MAY ELECTROCUTE YOU IF YOU TURN ON A LAMP, said the note that Tim had printed. He placed it by Jane's feet. "When they come through," he told her, "hold very still. Don't let that shade wobble. And make yourself as thin as possible."
"How much time do we have?" Barnaby B asked uneasily. "I don't have a camouflage yet. I wish it had been my day for the sweater."
"Don't be a worrywart, B," Tim said. "Come out here to the hall. Stand there by the door and hold your arms up."
Barnaby B did so, and Tim hung overcoats, taken from the hall closet, over his arms. "There," he said. "You are a coat tree."
"Will people fling coats over me? I might sneeze—or suffocate," Barnaby B said.
"No one will. I will prepare a notice that says: THE FURNACE IN THIS HOUSE IS DEFECTIVE. WEAR YOUR COAT. DO NOT HANG UP YOUR COAT OR YOU WILL FREEZE ."
"But my face shows," Barnaby B complained.
Tim took his father's felt hat, the one he wore to the bank each day, and hung it over Barnaby B's face. "There," he said.
"It doesn't smell nice," Barnaby B said in a muffled voice.
"That's because of the sweatband," Tim explained. "All men's hats have sweatbands inside. They smell nasty. Just hold your breath and you won't notice. Now: practice being motionless, all of you," he called, so that they could hear him in the other rooms.
It was silent as the children remained motionless in their poses. Tim went to the closet again.
"Tim?" called a
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