House Party (30 page)

"Reading, I think."

"Ah, yes, dear girl. Perhaps there's a little time left for me. Perhaps a little time."

"Of course there's time, Uncle Ned," Mrs. Ames said, hastily mopping a tear away while he wasn't looking. "Loads of time. Time for you, time for me, time for us all." She thought a minute and said "Time for me. Imagine. Even time for me."

Bryan came up first from the beach, briskly toweling himself. He looked a little better and there was an air of resolve about him.

"Well, Mother," he said, "now that it's done, it's done. No use moping about the old place or blaming Aunt Violet and her lousy fireworks."

"Bryan, I thought they were
lovely
fireworks. Quite the loveliest I've ever seen. I . . ."

"Mother, this is no time to be frivolous," Bryan said sternly.

"Isn't it?" Mrs. Ames said. "Odd, I
feel
so frivolous."

"Well, that may be all to the good in planning the new place. It's also nice to have an architect in the family. Now since this is to be your home, it should be rebuilt more or less the way
you
want it . . ."

"That should be simplicity itself, Bryan," Mrs. Ames said.

"But since, well, since sooner or later,
I'll
be, uh, well . .
!”

"We've all got to go sometime. Was that the platitude you had in mind, dear?"

"Well,
yes. And if I were given my choice, I'd say something along the lines of a modified French pavilion. Of course it costs so much to build nowadays that it couldn't be quite so large, but . . .”

"But I'm not going to rebuild. There isn't going to be any old Pruitt Place and no new one, either."

"Mother! There's
always
been an old Pruitt Place!" Bryan was shocked. "It's our
home!"

"You're very rarely in it, Bryan. It's been my prison ever since your father died and if I'd set that fire myself, I couldn't be more pleased with the results."

"Mother!"

"Bryan, for a young man of thirty-two, you have remarkably nineteenth-century ideas when it comes to . . .”

"Mother, does the tradition of our family mean
nothing
to you? The place where our ancestors . . ."

"Bryan, darling, do stop harping on these ancestors of yours. They weren't all that good. Dear Papa, for example, was just a clever robber baron who saw a good thing in steel and made the most of it. You don't even remember him, but let me tell you he was a real
boor.
And don't forget that we got this land free of charge. If we hadn't there wouldn't have been an old Pruitt Place. Dear Papa put up that eyesore just so he could out-swank the rest of the robber barons. Otherwise, there would never have been a house on the property and that's as far back as the
tradition
goes."

"But, Mother, think of our place in the community. We owe it to the people out here to . . ."

"Darling, we don't owe the people out here
anything.
They don't
want
anything. They just want to live and let live. That's all
I
want, too. I don't know where you ever got such feudal notions, Bryan. Certainly not from me. You sound more like my
father
than my son."

"Mother, I'm the head of this family and . . ."

"Now, listen, Bryan, sooner or later we're going to have to have a little family meeting to decide just what is to be done, I think that this is as good a time as any. Would you just run down to the beach and fetch Paul and Kathy and Elly?"

"But, listen, Mother . . ."

"Bryan. Do run and get the rest of them.”

With her children gathered around her in their wet bathing suits, Mrs. Ames cleared her throat and began to speak. "I—I feel like an awful fool calling this council. It's the first time I've ever done it, so you must forgive me if I make a few false starts or get off the track."

"What Mother means to say
. . ."
Bryan said.

"Bryan, I know quite well what I mean to say," Mrs. Ames continued a little more surely. "It's perfectly pointless to tell you that the house is gone. You can see that for yourselves. I hope that none of you has lost anything that's irreplaceable. We'll all have to get into the city as best we can. I'll stay at the Colony Club or move in with Violet until I can find a place to live."

"You could rent the Cunningham house down the road," Bryan volunteered. "They're in Europe."

"Thank you, Bryan, but I think not. I'm quite relieved to be rid of one big house without involving myself with another. Now " she continued, "Bryan suggests that I rebuild this house or something nearly as opulent. I find the idea distressing, but we'll put it to a vote. How many of you really
like
coming out here? Hands, please."

Bryan alone raised his hand.

"That's very interesting, Bryan, since you come here least of all. Then, does anyone honestly see why I should saddle myself with another big house to run? This is what I plan to do. This tract of land is six square miles. It has driven me nearly into the poor-house and virtually to drink. There are how many acres to a square mile?"

"Six hundred and forty," Paul said.

"Thank you, dear. Paul has an idea for a kind of housing development which would not be unattractive to anyone. In fact, I shouldn't mind living in a nice, efficient little house on a full acre of land myself."

"With a lot of riffraff?" Bryan said.

"It's nice to know, Bryan,” Mrs. Ames said with a certain amount of irritation, "that our great liberal is still with us. In any case, Paul has this scheme which I think is a good one. I was planning to help him raise the money to get some land out here. But owing to the happy catastrophe brought on by Violet and the Aurora Borealis Gunpowder Company, I happen to have six square miles to give away. That's how many acres, Paul?"

"Three, nearly four thousand acres."

"Very well, then. The old Pruitt Place will shortly become a place for four thousand families to live. It's a . . ."

"You can't do that, Mother. I'll stop you. I'll stop you by law!" Bryan said.

"And just how do you propose to do that, Bryan? I'd be interested to know."

"This place is mine. At least it's as good as mine. It's family property and I'm the oldest. It would come to me, anyhow."

"Really, Bryan!" Kathy said.

"That's an entertaining theory, Bryan, but not a very accurate one. The old Pruitt Place is not yours. It is not like the Knickerbocker Bank—something that necessarily has to be handed down from father to son. This property was left to me by
my
father with no strings attached. It is mine to do with as I choose and this is what I choose to do with it. For four hundred years this place has produced nothing but wood ticks and us. Now I intend to make it productive in a number of ways, by handing it over to Paul to fill with his nice cheap houses."

"For God's sake, Mother," Bryan shouted, "do you want to turn this place into a slum? If you wanted to sell off part of it to make into a
decent
subdivision with houses in the thirty-to-forty thousand-dollar bracket, for people who could appreciate the place, I might . . ."

"That is precisely what I do
not
intend to do. I have the feeling that Paul's people will be just as capable of appreciating this land as your people, Bryan, and more deserving of it."

"Mother," Bryan said patiently. "Don't you realize that while you're selling this place off for nickels and dimes to a lot of—well, to just
anybody
—you could unload it on some smart builder for
about a million dollars?"

"I realize that, yes, Bryan. And I
am
unloading it on a smart builder," she patted Paul's hand. "But not for any million dollars, There aren't going to
be
any more millions, Bryan. Not for anybody any longer and especially not for
you.
Paul and Kathy and Elly seem to have surmounted the obstacle of having once been very rich. But not
you.
You still think of yourself as the crown prince. Well . . ."

"It isn't a question of money," Bryan said hotly, "it's a question of tradition, position, our place in . . ."

"Balls," Elly said.

"Eleanor!" Mrs. Ames said. "That was very coarse. Bryan, all of those virtues you mention spring directly from having either money or the recent memory of it. You've lived with your monarchical dreams for thirty-two years, now, and I dare say you've been about the unhappiest young man I know. With any luck, you'll have another thirty-two years to get over your high-flown notions. At least I
hope
so! In the meantime, Paul and Betty will be in charge of the place to do with it as they will."

"Paul and Betty?" Bryan whispered. "Paul and Betty
Cannon?"

"Paul and Betty Cannon," Paul said.

"But, Mother," Kathy said. "What are you going to do?"

"Oh, I'm going to do lots of things, darling. I'm going to learn to cook. I'm going to buy a lot of brand-new clothes. I'm going to baby-sit with whatever grandchildren any of you feel up to presenting to me. I'm going to get peeled . . "

"You're going to
what?"
Elly demanded.

"Violet says there's a marvelous little woman on Fiftieth Street who peels you. Gets right down to the baby skin. I'll have Nanny and Uncle Ned to look after and Violet to quarrel with. It's going to be a happy life."

"Where are you thinking of living?" Kathy asked.

"Well, I was thinking of one of those nice compact little apartments in the new Rabadab building."

"Mother. Not that!" Paul gasped.

"Yes. I rather fancy myself in two air-conditioned rooms with a Rabadab Electronuclear Demi-Kitchenette and a closet for my new mink coat. Mother's going to have some fun, kiddies. Mother's going to have some fun."

"That's the most irresponsible, slipshod . . .”

"And another thing, Bryan," Mrs. Ames said, "I'm going to see what I can do about helping you to grow up. Even that might be fun."

The meeting adjourned with the arrival of Betty Cannon and breakfast.

Everyone but Felicia turned out for breakfast, and except for a certain amount of strain, it was a jolly and wholesome meal. A little too wholesome for Manning. He was clean at last, and not unaware of the stir he was able to create in bathing trunks, he stole silently into the dressing cubicle where Felicia lay sleeping. With the skill that had thrilled so many heiresses, Manning stroked her bare arm, took her hand gently and lifted it to his lips. He could hardly avoid noticing the size of the star ruby on her finger. "My darling," he whispered, "my . . ."

Felicia's free hand came up from the floor with a blow that sent Manning staggering. "Get out of here, you wretched he-whore! Get out of here and don't ever let me see your smirking face again!”

There was little else for Manning to do.

"Delicious breakfast, Betty, my dear," Violet said, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. "But why hasn't your dear father come to share it with us?"

"Daddy's home packing," Betty said.

"Packing?"
Violet gasped.

"Yes. He's planning some sort of camping trip. He . . .”

"Oh," Violet sighed. "The dear man. Darling Walter! Always thinking of me, A honeymoon in the wilderness! Could anything be more excruciatingly romantic?"

"It sounds buggy to me," Elly said.

"Ah, but Walter
is
such a rugged, virile man. My woodsman! I’ll go to him. I’ll go to him right now. May I take the station wagon, Lily?"

"Do you think you're quite suitably turned out for a life in the woods, Violet?" Mrs. Ames asked, eyeing her sister's burned dress, her sandals, her little fur cape.

"Clothes, Lily! Do you think of nothing but
clothes?
Live for the moment! For the grand romance! Besides, I can stop off at Abercrombie's and pick up something smart but suitable. Ah, the call of the wild! The birchbark canoe, the sleeping bag! But I must rush to him quickly. Good-bye, my darlings," she said, kissing the children, "Granny's going away for a little while, but she'll bring you back a new grandfather and a lovely, lovely surprise."

"A papoose?" Mrs. Ames said. But her sister hadn't heard. Already Violet was tripping toward the car.

By ten the place was swarming with the Hemenways, the Heminways and the Hemingways, who had come to view the remains of dear Papa's folly, and who volunteered to drive the members of the house party to the station.

"I’ll be moving into the gatehouse right away," Paul said, hugging his mother. "I'll keep the station wagon out here, if you're sure you won't want it in New York."

"Positive," Mrs. Ames said.

"I'll borrow an old cot or something from Betty and buy some drawing paper in the village and get right down to work. And Mother—how can I ever thank you?"

"By building good houses for good people and leading a happy, useful life. That's how." Mrs. Ames was getting a trifle teary.

"I'm driving Felicia and Fraulein and the kids in, Mother," Bryan said. "I wish I could squeeze you in, but . . ."

"No, darling, thank you. I'll take the train in with Nanny. Mrs. Hemenway has offered to take us to the station, haven't you, Maude?"

One by one the cars drove off, leaving Paul and Betty standing among the breakfast dishes. A stray zephyr picked up one of the paper napkins and carried it, fluttering, over the foundation of the house. It hovered in the air for a moment and then fell into the .ashes.

Bryan drove off, followed by the Hemenways, who, by clever arranging, had managed to pack Mrs. Ames, Nanny, Elly, Joe, Kathy and John into their car. Uncle Ned and Sturgis and Fang piled into the back of the Heminways’ car and rolled away, Fang barking and licking the back of Mr. Heminway's neck. Silently, Manning and Claire got into the last car, a Buick owned by the Hemingways. As they drove out of sight, Paul was sketching a still better kind of house on an old paper napkin.