Free The Genie of Sutton Place by George Selden

want?”
    He thought a moment—desperately, you could see by his face. Then he said, “Oh—Bassinger, I guess.”
    That struck me as funny—and also pretty original. “Why Bassinger, Sam?”
    â€œYou never knew it, Timmy,” said Sam, “but my father was a basset hound, and my mother was a springer spaniel.”

8
    The Fearful Lunch
    Aunt Lucy was in the living room. “Oh, Timmy—I’ve been so worried”—as usual. She was worried last night, she was worried this morning—she did a lot of worrying in those days. “I didn’t know where—” Then she saw Sam behind me.
    For a minute I thought the impossible: that she recognized him. Her forehead and eyes pinched into a question. But then they smoothed out clear again.
    Sam, of course, was just standing there with that basset expression of pure dumb hopeless love.
    Things had to be joggled on. I rushed into the silence that was holding us all apart. “Aunt Lucy, this is Mr. Bassinger. He’s an old friend of Lorenzo’s and mine; we met him this morning driving around, and since he’s an old friend of Lorenzo’s and mine, I thought I’d—I thought I’d—” About here I ran out of steam.
    But Aunt Lucy came to my rescue. “You thought you’d bring him up to say hello.” She smiled.
    â€œThat’s right! ” I said.
    â€œI’m so glad you did. How do you do, Mr. Bassinger?” She held out her hand.
    I breathed an inward sigh of relief that I’d taught Sam how to shake hands. But he did it like a dog. Just held his hand out limply and waited for Aunt Lucy to take it, shake it, and then let it go again. It’s funny how something like a limp handshake can be so appealing in a dog, but kind of icky in a man.
    â€œWell—” Aunt Lucy began to jitter, because Sam still hadn’t said a word—“I am glad to meet a friend of Timmy’s.”
    I was beginning to fear for his voice myself, when he managed to get out, “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Farr. Again.”
    â€œOh? Have we met before?” said Aunt Lucy.
    â€œI told him all about you, Aunt Lucy.” I realized right then that I was going to have to pay careful attention to everything and do a lot of tidying up.
    â€œMr. Bassinger—” Aunt Lucy’s voice went into its social register—“I have an idea. It’s past time for lunch—I was waiting for Timmy—do say that you’ll stay and have luncheon with us.”
    â€œLuncheon?” Sam looked at me with terrorized eyes. You’d have thought she’d said rabies shots. “At the table—? ”
    Fortunately she misunderstood. “Perhaps you’re one of those very courageous people who don’t eat lunch—” For those whole great weeks we were saved very often by somebody’s ignorance.
    â€œUsually I have just one meal a day,” said Sam. “And two biscuits when I wake up.”
    â€œWon’t you make an exception this noon?” said Aunt Lucy, flirting with his appetite. “We’re having lamb chops—”
    â€œLamb chops—” I could see Sam’s mouth begin to water.
    â€œOh, good! You do like them.”
    â€œI like the bones—”
    I gave a warning cough to Sam. The first of many warning coughs. By the end of that lunch, Aunt Lucy was sure I had a cold, and I had made my throat sore.
    â€œI’ll ask Rose to set another place.” Aunt Lucy went into the kitchen.
    â€œTimmy,” Sam yowled, “take me back to the dog pound!”
    â€œNow, Sam—” I wanted to pet his head. But apart from being caught by Aunt Lucy, I guessed all those doggy things were now out.
    â€œI can’t make it, Tim! I can’t!”
    â€œYes you can, Sam. Just keep watching me.”
    â€œI’m a dog—”
    â€œNo you’re not! You’re a man.