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While waiting for Jean, Rudolph picked up the weekend edition of the Whitby Sentinel and was immediately sorry he had done so. On the front page there was an article about the hiring of Professor Denton by the college, with all the old insinuations and made-up quotes from unidentified sources which expressed concern that the impressionable youth of the college were going to be exposed to such a doubtful influence. “That sonofabitch Harrison,” Rudolph said.
“You want something, Mr. Jordache?” asked the bartender, who was reading a magazine at the other end of the bar.
“Another beer, please, Hank,” Rudolph said. He tossed the paper aside. At that moment, he decided that if he could swing it, he was going to buy Harrison’s paper. It would be the best thing he could do for the town. And it shouldn’t be too difficult to do. Harrison hadn’t shown a profit on it for at least three years and if he didn’t know that it was Rudolph who was after it, he probably would be willing to let it go at a fair price.. Rudolph resolved to talk to Joh
He was sipping his beer, trying to forget about Harrison until Monday, when Brad Knight came in from the golf course with the other three men in his foursome. Rudolph winced at the orange pants that Brad was wearing. “You entered in the Ladies’ Handicap Cup?” he asked Brad as the men came up to the bar and Brad slapped him on the back.
Brad laughed. “Male plumage, Rudy,” he said. “In nature always more brilliant than the female’s. On weekends, I’m the natural man. This round is on me, Hank, I’m the big wi
The men ordered and went over their cards. Brad and his partner had won close to three hundred dollars. Brad was one of the best golfers in the club and played a hustler’s game, often starting badly and then getting his opponents to double bets. Well, that was his business. If people could lose nearly a hundred and fifty dollars apiece on a Saturday afternoon, Rudolph supposed they could afford it. But it made him uneasy to listen to men taking that much of a loss so lightly. He was not a born gambler.
“I saw Jean on the court with you,” Brad said. “She looks just great.”
“She comes from tough stock,” Rudolph said. “Oh, by the way, thanks for the present for Enid.” Jean’s mother’s maiden name had been Enid Cu
One of the men Brad had been playing with was the chairman of the greens committee, Eric Sunderlin, and he was talking about his pet project, lengthening and improving the course. There was a large parcel of abandoned farm and timber land adjoining the course and Sunderlin was circulating a petition among the club members to float a loan and buy it. “It would put us in the big time,” Sunderlin was saying. “We could even have a stab at a PGA tournament. We’d double our membership.”
Everything in America, Rudolph thought resentfully, has a built-in tendency to double itself and move into the big time. He himself didn’t play golf. Still, he was grateful that they were talking about golf at the bar and not about the article in the Sentinel.
“What about you, Rudy?” Sunderlin asked, finishing his Tom Collins. “Are you going to sign up with the rest of us?”
“I haven’t given it much thought,” Rudolph said. “Give me a couple of weeks to think it over.”
“What’s there to think over?” Sunderlin asked aggressively.
“Good old Rudy,” Brad said. “No snap decisions. He thinks it over for two weeks if he has to have a haircut.”
“It would help if a man of your stature was behind us,” Sunderlin said. “I’ll be after you.”
“I’m sure you will, Eric,” Rudy said. Sunderlin laughed at this tribute to him and he and the two other men went off to the showers, their spiked golf shoes clattering on the bare wooden floor. It was a club rule that spikes were not to be worn in the bar or restaurant or card room, but nobody paid any attention to it. If we ever move into the big time, Rudolph thought, you will have to take off your shoes.
Brad remained at the bar and ordered another drink. He always had a high flush on his face, but it was impossible to tell whether it was from the sun or from drink.
“A man of your stature,” Brad said. “Everybody in this town always talks about you as though you’re ten feet tall.”
“That’s why I stick to this town,” Rudolph said.
“You going to stay here when you quit?” Brad didn’t look at Rudolph while he spoke, but nodded at Hank as Hank put his glass in front of him on the bar.
“Who said anything about quitting?” Rudolph had not talked to Brad about his plans.
“Things get around.”
“Who told you?”
“You are going to quit, aren’t you?”
“Who told you?”
“Virginia Calderwood,” Brad said.
“Oh.”
“She overheard her father talking to her mother.”
Spy, information gatherer, demented night-lurker, on quiet feet, Virginia Calderwood, listening in and out of shadows.
“I’ve been seeing her the last couple of months,” Brad said. “She’s a nice girl.”
Student of character, Bradford Knight, originally from Oklahoma, open Western plains, where things were what they seemed to be.
“Uhuh,” Rudolph said.
“Have you and the old man discussed who’s going to take your place?”
“Yes, we’ve discussed it.”
“Who’s it going to be?”
“We haven’t decided yet.”
“Well,” Bradford said, smiling, but more flushed than ever, “give an old college chum at least ten minutes notice before it’s a
“Yes. What else has Miss Calderwood told you?”
“Nothing much,” Brad said offhandedly. “That she loves me. Stuff like that. Have you seen her recently?”
“No.” Rudolph hadn’t seen her since the night Enid was born. Six weeks wasn’t recently.
“We’ve had some laughs together,” Brad said. “Her appearance is deceptive. She’s a fun girl.”
New aspects of the lady’s character. Given to laughter. A fun girl. Merriment on porches at midnight.
“Actually,” Brad said, “I’m considering marrying her.”
“Why?” Rudolph asked. Although he could guess why.
“I’m tired of whoring around,” Brad said. “I’m getting on toward forty and it’s becoming wearing.” Not the whole answer, friend, Rudolph thought. Nowhere nearly the whole answer.
“Maybe I’m impressed with your example,” Brad said. “If marriage is good enough for a man of your stature—” He gri
“You didn’t have much conjugal bliss the last time.”
“That’s for sure,” Brad said. His first marriage, to the daughter of an oil man, had lasted six months. “But I was younger then. And I wasn’t married to a decent girl like Virginia. And maybe my luck’s changed.”
Rudolph took a deep breath. “Your luck hasn’t changed, Brad,” he said quietly. Then he told Brad about Virginia Calderwood, about the letters, the phone calls, the ambushes in front of his apartment, the last crazy scene just six weeks ago. Brad listened in silence. All he said, at the end, was, “It must be plain glorious to be as wildly desirable as you, kid.”