Free To Sail Beyond the Sunset by Robert A. Heinlein Page B

touching. Maureen, remember that bathtub we used in Chicago?”
    “I certainly do!” The World’s Fair had been an endless wonder and I’ll never forget my first view of the Lake and my first ride on a railroad train up high in the air…but I dreamed about that tub, all white enamel, and hot water up to my chin. I could be seduced for a hot bath. They say every woman has her price. That’s mine.
    “Mrs. Malloy charged us two bits for each bath. This minute I would happily pay her two dollars. Maureen, I need glycerine and rose water. In my bag. Please.”
    Father compounded this lotion himself and it was intended primarily for chapped hands. Right now he needed it to soothe his hands against the strong lye soap he had just used.
    Once back on the road he said, “Maureen, that baby was dead long before Jackson Igo sent for me. Since last night, I estimate.”
    I tried to feel sorry about that baby. But growing up in that household was no fate to wish on anyone. “Then why did he send for you?”
    “To bless the death. To get me to write a death certificate, to keep him from trouble with the law when he buries it…which he is probably doing this very minute. Primarily to cause me—and you—to make a six-mile round trip to save himself the trouble of harnessing his mule and coming into town.” Father laughed without mirth. “He kept pointing out that I couldn’t charge him for a call since I didn’t get there before the baby died. I finally said, ‘Shut up, Jackson. You haven’t paid me a cent since Cleveland beat Harrison.’ He said something about hard times and how this administration never does anything for the farmer.”
    Father sighed. “I didn’t argue with him; he had a point. Maureen, you’ve been keeping my books this past year; would you say these were hard times?”
    That brought me up sharp. I had been thinking about the Howard Foundation and Chuck’s pretty penis. “I don’t know, Father. But I know that you have far more on the books than you ever get paid. I’ve noticed something else, too: the worst of the deadbeats would rather owe you a dollar for a house call than fifty cents for an office visit. Like Jackson Igo.”
    “Yes. He could have fetched that little cadaver in—never saw a child so dehydrated!—but I’m relieved that he did not; I don’t want him in my clean clinic…or Adele’s clean house. You’ve seen the books; do you estimate that collections are enough to support our family? Food, clothing, shelter, oats and hay, and a nickel for Sunday School?”
    I thought about it. I knew my multiplication tables through twenty times twenty, same as everybody, and in high school I had been learning the delights of more advanced ciphering. But I had never applied any of it to our household affairs. Now I drew a blackboard in my mind and did some hard calculating.
    “Father…if they all paid you what they owe you, we would be quite comfortable. But they don’t pay you, not enough of them.” I thought. “Nevertheless we are comfortable.”
    “Maureen, if you don’t want the Howard option, better marry a rich man. Not a country doctor.”
    Presently he shrugged and smiled. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll keep food on the table even if I have to slide over into Kansas and rustle cattle. Shall we sing? ‘Pop Goes the Weasel’ would be appropriate today. How is your weasel by now, dear? Sore?”
    “Father, you are a dirty old man and you will come to a bad end.”
    “I’ve always hoped so, but I’ve been too busy raising Kinder to raise Cain. Meant to tell you: Someone else is interested in your welfare. Old lady Altschuler.”
    “So I know.” I told him about her remark. “She thinks I’m Audrey.”
    “That unspeakable old cow. But she may not really think you are Audrey. She asked me what you were doing in the grandstand at the fairgrounds.”
    “Well! What did you tell her?”
    “I told her nit. Silence is all a snoopy question deserves…just fail to hear