Free Many Unpleasant Returns by Judith Alguire

accompanied by Walter and aided by Harry Justus. While Harry and Walter went on into the dining room, Doreen made her way to the desk.
    Rudley gritted his teeth. Doreen had that petulant edge to her voice that always spelled endless aggravation. “Yes, Mrs. Sawchuck?”
    â€œIt’s snowed.”
    â€œYes, it has.”
    â€œHarry was going to take us for a little walk around the property. I need the exercise for my arthritis. And I think it might be too slippery with all that snow and if I fall, I don’t know what might happen.”
    You’d probably break the damn flagstones, Rudley thought. To Mrs. Sawchuck, he said, “Lloyd has attended to the walks and smoothed everything clear to the road. You should be fine.”
    â€œI hope it isn’t too cold.”
    â€œIt’s hovering around zero.”
    She put a hand to her mouth. “Zero?”
    â€œIn Rochester, that would be thirty-two degrees.”
    She sighed with relief. “I’ll tell Walter,” she said and hobbled off to the dining room, where Walter was gazing myopically toward the window, satisfied that the outdoors was still there. He turned toward his usual table in the corner, then waved imperiously to Tim, who was coming out of the kitchen with a tray, which he deposited at Miss Miller and Simpson’s table.
    â€œWhere’s our table?” Walter demanded.
    â€œLloyd took it downstairs,” Tim replied. “With the tables moved around, it was a bit in the way. Besides” — he lowered his voice — “with Mr. Justus with your party it seemed like too tight a fit in the corner. He was really squeezed last night.” He gave Doreen and Walter an apologetic shrug. “As you see, there’s a Christmas tree there now.”
    â€œWell, if he’s squeezed, he should lose a few pounds.” Walter’s voice carried across the dining room. He gave Tim a sharp look. “You’ll have to move a table, I guess. And get rid of the tree.”
    Mr. Simpson jumped to his feet. “Please join us, Mr. Sawchuck.”
    â€œI’ve got to sit down, Walter.” Doreen leaned heavily on her cane, grabbing onto Harry, who looked embarrassed.
    â€œYes, we’d love to have you join us,” said Miss Miller. “Our table’s set for six.”
    â€œI want to see Rudley,” Walter bawled.
    â€œI have to sit down,” said Doreen, taking a step forward. Walter turned, got tangled in her cane, and would have toppled into her if Tim hadn’t grabbed him.
    Harry took his sister’s arm, steered her to Miss Miller’s table, and helped her into a chair.
    Tim beckoned to Rudley, who galloped in from the desk. “What’s the matter?” he asked Walter.
    â€œYou took my table away and moved that tree into my corner.”
    â€œWe’ll have it back for you at supper,” Rudley said. “We had a rather raucous group at the last sitting last night. Everyone kept bumping into your table. Then someone backed up into the Christmas tree and knocked it askew. It wasn’t in the ideal location.”
    â€œThat’s your problem,” Walter said to a glowering Rudley. “I don’t know why MacIntyre sold this place.”
    â€œPlease have breakfast with us, Mr. Sawchuck,” Mr. Simpson interjected. “We’d be honoured.”
    â€œYes, you would,” Walter muttered.
    â€œWe’ll have everything back to normal by lunch,” said Rudley.
    Simpson took Walter’s arm and steered him gently but firmly to the head of the table.
    â€œYou’ll be all right,” Doreen said. “Just don’t drink so much.”
    â€œYou’re not much further away,” Harry said, nodding toward the restroom.
    â€œEasy for you to say,” Walter grumbled. He huffed about, wriggling in his seat as if it were a chore to get comfortable on the unfamiliar chair. Finally he allowed Tim to fuss over him. Tim