Free Crawlspace by Herbert Lieberman Page A

interested in me, and he was not about to expend the effort of my idle chitchat trying to give the impression that he was.
    “Good morning, Mr. Washburn,” I said, rolling down my window.
    “Fill ’er up?” he asked, disregarding my greeting.
    “Yes, please.”
    Through the windshield I watched him crank the pump impassively while a few desultory snowflakes whirled about his leather cap.
    “Road coming up from the bog was pretty bad,” I said.
    “Ayuh,” said Washburn. That was his expression-of agreement.
    “Looks like we’ll have a white Christmas—”
    “Ayuh—”
    I listened to the small bell of the pump, ticking off the gallons.
    “You find a boy for that job you had here a few weeks back?” I went on undaunted.
    “Nope.”
    “I sent a boy over to apply for it about two weeks ago. Has he been in yet?”
    “Nope.”
    “I see,” I said, suddenly irritated.
    “Can’t get young folks to work nowadays,” said Washburn. “Ain’t interested in it.”
    The pump tolled its final bell and came to a halt. When I paid Mr. Washburn and drove away, I was very angry.
    Arriving home, I recounted to Alice my conversation with Washburn. I told it to her over a cup of cocoa and when I was finished, she looked at me reproachfully. “I’m surprised at you, Albert. That’s no work for the boy. He’s got a brain. He’s sensitive. Imagine having to spend every day in the company of that Washburn creature.” She made a clucking sound with her tongue. “I’m frankly surprised at you, Albert.”
    “I assure you I had the boy’s interest at heart.”
    “Interest?” She gave me a scathing, derisive little laugh. “And you threw him on the mercy of Ezra Washburn. Imagine. A gasoline station attendant.”
    “You find that disgraceful?”
    “You don’t?”
    “No, I don’t. Not at all.”
    “Well, if you don’t then I’m sorry for you. I was under the impression you wanted something better for the boy.”
    “I do, Alice,” I spoke through clenched teeth. “But I don’t feel he’s quite ready for the local bank presidency. Perhaps next week—”
    “Don’t be sarcastic.” She rose and swept my cocoa cup away.
    “I’m not finished with that yet.” I rose and trailed after her.
    “I hope you didn’t forget the plaster for that chink,” she went right on, not having heard me.
    I had a sudden vision of my hair-raising journey over icy roads. In my mind I saw the car skid out of control and plunge down an embankment. It rolled over several times and landed upside down, its tires spinning in the air.
    I caught up with her at the sink just as she was about to pour out the remaining cocoa.
    “No, Alice. I didn’t forget the plaster,” I said and snatched my cup back.
    There must have been something ominous in my voice, because she was suddenly conciliatory. “Well, dear—You really ought to plaster up that hole before the weather turns, so that he has a warm place for tonight.”
    I gazed at her for what must have been an unnaturally long time. Then I rose and started from the kitchen. When I reached the door, I turned again and faced her. “I hardly recognize you, Alice. You’re like a damned brood hen.”
    She turned an astonished glance on me.
    “You know,” I went on. “It’s just possible I’m even fonder of him than you are. But I am disappointed that he hasn’t at least gone over to see Washburn. I’m not saying Washburn is the right place for him. I only intended that he stay there a little while until he got on his feet.” She was suddenly quite tender. “He’ll get on his feet, Albert. Don’t worry. When the right job comes, just watch him snatch it.”
    I sighed. “I’m sure you’re right.”
    “Of course I am, dear’. You’ll see. Now just go and patch up that hole down there, while I fix some nice hot soup for tonight’s supper. Richard loves split pea.”
    The rest of the afternoon was spent out of doors, laboring over the chink in the crawl. It was located along