Free Journey to an 800 Number by E.L. Konigsburg Page B

cost.
    “We’ll have good meals, but it will be the same thing every time. The people will be different.
    There are certain types that always show up at any convention, and you’ll get to meet some of each type.”
    We plugged in at the ranch about noon. Father unleashed and fed Ahmed while I made sandwiches for lunch. Then we drove into town and Father bought me two western shirts and two bandannas for around my neck. I already had jeans. I decided to buy boots with part of the money Mr. Malatesta had given me. I discovered that the boots I really wanted took all of it. Father said, why not? And I said that meant the boots were worth fifty kiddy rides on Ahmed, and Father said, so what? And so I bought them. After all, I had promised Mr. Malatesta to spend the fifty dollars foolishly, and boots didn’t seem foolish unless they were expensive, and I explained my thinking to Father.
    He didn’t agree. “To buy fancy and expensive boots is not foolish, but talking about it is.”
    I understood what he meant.
    We got back to the dude ranch before the first bus of conventioneers arrived from town. Father introduced me (as Bo) to the people who worked at the ranch. One of them was Ruth Britten, and she seemed more glad to see Father than any of the others. I watched her a lot. The first convention group that came were social workers, and I have never seen a more sincere bunch of people. Ruthie Britten asked one man if he would like another cupof coffee. He did not say, “Yes, thank you” or “No thanks,” he said, “How kind of you to ask,” and then he turned to the person sitting next to him and asked, “How do you feel about another cup of coffee, Sam?” And Sam said, “Do you think it’s decaffeinated?” and the first man said, “Good question. Shall we ask?” Sam said, “I suppose we should.” The first man turned to Ruthie, who was standing there holding the coffeepot, and asked, “May I ask, please, is the coffee decaffeinated?” and she said, “No, it isn’t, but I’ll speak to the management about it. You decaffeinated drinkers need more representation.” The man smiled at her and then smiled at his friend and said, “That’s true. This young lady has made a good point.” Then Ruthie Britten lifted her coffeepot and said, “How about it, boys? Feeling brave?” They both nodded and took seconds.
    I liked that Ruthie Britten, and on the way back to the camper that night, I told Father about how she had handled those two men. “What’s she do besides wait on tables?”
    “She drives the bus to Denver to pick them up. She’s smart all right,” Father said. “She’s a school librarian down in Lafayette, Louisiana, the rest of the year. She works here summers during the height of the convention season. We’ve been meeting at Oakes’ Ranch for about four years now. Tonight will start our fifth.”
    “Tonight?”
    “Yes,” Father said. We were back at our camper now, and he was pulling his shaving things from out of the closet. He put them into a little zipper kit that I didn’t even know he owned. He took out a fresh shirt and a change of underwear, too. He said as he started toward the door, “Better set the alarm. Breakfast is at seven down at the ranch house. Allow yourself fifteen minutes to walk there. See you in the morning.”
    “Well!” I said, “you sure seem to have recovered from your illness in a hurry.”
    “Thanks to your fine care.”
    “Care!” I said. “Care is something you seem to know nothing about. You don’t even
care
if I’m left all alone in a strange land with not even a telephone to call on.”
    “Ruthie’s camper is just four down—on the left. You won’t even have to call very loud.”
    “Mother didn’t send me halfway across the Continental USA to spend a month with you only to be abandoned.”
    Father shrugged. “I’m spending this night and all the nights that we’re at Oakes’ Ranch at Ruthie’s. Now if you want to make a complaint