Free The Lockwood Concern by John O'Hara Page A

entering George Lockwood's study. "Is that all I get in the way of greeting?" "If you mean, am I going to kiss you? No. I'm catching a cold. I've been sneezing all the way from Easton. I could have revenge by passing the cold on to you, but I'm too nice for that. And besides - what right have you got to expect a kiss from me? You've been behaving like a bastard, George, and I don't like it at all." "I guess I do, sometimes." "Well, I don't like it. Really, I don't. I wish you'd at least say you're sorry." "Would that cure your cold?" "Don't try to blame my cold for the way I'm feeling. My cold has nothing to do with it. Although it has. Why didn't you send Andrew in the Lincoln?" "Because I thought you'd be more likely to catch cold in the Pierce-Arrow." "I wouldn't put it past you. I really wouldn't, the last two or three days. I'm going to have a bath and go to bed, and don't bother to come in to say goodnight." "All right, Geraldine. Whatever you say." "Where's my mail? Did any of my packages come?" "Ask May."
    One of the passengers on the evening train from Philadelphia on a day in late February 1921 was Bing Lockwood, George Bingham Lockwood Junior. He was a tall slender young man of twenty-two, wearing a light brown hat, a long raccoon coat that hung unbuttoned and revealed a very light grey Norfolk suit, plain-toed black shoes with a black saddle over the instep. He descended from the Pullman at Swedish Haven and looked about him to right and left, raising himself on tiptoe to see above the crowd. He stood on the platform, a splendid English pigskin kitbag at one side, a no less splendid pigskin tennis bag at the other. His clothes and accouterments were high fashion among undergraduates, but his present manner was far from carefree. "Hello, Georgie. Home over Saturday?" The speaker was Ike Wehner, the baggage master. "Hello, Mr. Wehner. You didn't see our Henry, did you?" "No, I didn't. But I wasn't lookin' for him. I don't see your machine, neither. He may be along, you can't tell." Wehner moved on, and in a few minutes Bing Lockwood was alone on the platform. He waited five minutes, looked at his watch several times. "Guess you're going to have to stretch those long legs of yours, Georgie, unless you want me to phone the house," said Wehner. "I'll phone up if you want me to and you can keep watch out here." "No thanks, Mr. Wehner. I guess I'll walk." "Anything wrong, Georgie? At the house? Your mother - no worse, I hope." "No, nothing wrong, thanks. So long, Mr. Wehner." Bing Lockwood walked the two blocks east and three blocks South to the family home. He let himself in, left his luggage and coat and hat in the hall, and went back to his father's den. "Hello, Father," he said. George Lockwood put down the evening paper. "Hello, son." "Well, here I am" "Here you are, all right. Sit down. Don't stand there waiting for me to tell you what to do." The son took a chair and lit a cigarette. "When did you give up wearing garters? Is that the thing at Princeton now?" "Are you going to start by criticizing my clothes?" said Bing Lockwood. "Almost anywhere I'd start I could criticize, couldn't I?" "Yes, I guess so. But Jesus Christ. Garters." "All right. Forget the garters. We could start with your language. "Well, I apologize for that," said the son. George Lockwood got up and took a cigarette out of a silver box on his desk. He was about to light the cigarette when he hesitated, picked up the silver box and examined it. He then handed it to his son. "I was very pleased when you gave me this. But now I'm returning it to you." "Why? I won it, and you admired it, so I was glad to give it to you." "Yes, but how did you win it?" "Oh, for Christ's sake, Father. This was tennis." "You've been kicked out of college for cheating in exam For all I know, you cheat in everything." "It would be pretty God damn hard to win a tennis tournament on cheating alone. Did you ever notice those men on the big high chair? If you don't want the