The phones rang incessantly as the deadline approached, and Dwight was busy with the chalk and eraser. With only five minutes to go, Buckhead made another bid on the Circus Pony. He also inquired about less valuable banks, bidding a hundred dollars here and a hundred dollars there. He was stalling. Qwilleran looked at Dwight and shrugged. The speaker phone was beeping away the seconds. At the stroke of midnight all bids were cut off. Buckhead had his Circus Pony for forty-five thousand. Everyone in the shop applauded.
The Siamese, without help from the Washington Naval Observatory, knew that their bedtime snack was seventy-four minutes past due, and they met Qwilleran at the kitchen door, scolding and lashing their tails.
“All right! All right!” he said. “I was helping an elderly widow who loves cats! Try to be a little understanding, a little more flexible.”
As he watched them devour their Kabibbles, he reflected that it had been an eventful day in every way: the hijacking of the bookmobile, the coast-to-coast telephone auction, and even the mad scramble for cardboard cartons for the library – not to mention the debut of the Absolutely Absurd Press, Inc. He had not yet read the list of proposed titles.
He found it in one of his pockets:
Everything You Wanted to Know About Ravens, by Edgar Allan Poe.
A Revised History of the World, by Lewis Carroll.
Painting by Numbers, with foreword by Leonardo.
How to Make Lasting Friendships, by Richard III.
Bedtime Stories for Tiny Tots, illustrated by Hieronymus Bosch.
The last one was undoubtedly Homer Tibbitt’s contribution: How to Get Away with Anything, by Mayor Gregory Blythe.
After a few chuckles Qwilleran was feeling relaxed enough to retire, but first he would read a couple of installments of the Annie-Fanny correspondence. Next was the letter dated June 24:
Dear Fanny
Miracle of miracles! My actor didn’t write to me, but he phoned every week from a different city! The tour ended in Denver, and he called to say he was coming back to Chicago. He said life had been barren without me!
So now he’s here and hoping for work, but there’s not much opportunity in his field. He says he’s willing to sell neckties at Marshall Field until something turns up. Fanny, you can’t believe how HAPPY I am! I’ll send you a snapshot of him when I finish the roll on my camera. Without the Russian beard he’s really handsome. In my weekly letter to Mother I broke the good news, and her reply was, “Dad warns you not to get serious about an actor.” Wouldn’t you know? What does he understand about LOVE?
I’ll send you a snapshot of Dana as soon as I finish the roll in my camera. His last name is Qwilleran, spelled with a QW. He says it’s Danish. Be happy for me, dear Fanny. I’m ECSTATIC!
Love from Annie
Qwilleran huffed into his moustache. His male parent should have had sense enough to stay in New York. With his handsome looks, charming personality, and glorious voice he could have been the John Barrymore of his generation. The next letter, dated August 22, was a short one. He read it.
Dear Fanny.
We’ve decided to get married! Isn’t that exciting? I phoned Mother to share the good news, and what an explosion! Totally! Dad got on the line and said he didn’t want his daughter marrying an unemployed actor. I told him I had to live my own life. He said, “Then live it your way, but don’t come crying to me for help when he can’t support you!” I said, “If necessary I can support both of us” and hung up. I knew that would be his reaction, but I don’t care. I won’t let it put a wet blanket on a joyous occasion. Think good thoughts, Fanny. I know you’re on my side.
Love from Annie
“The plot thickens!” Qwilleran said as he replaced the letters in the file.
Fourteen
Saturday, September 19 – ‘The fish dies because he opens his mouth too much.’
WITH HIS FIRST CUP of coffee Qwilleran felt the urge to read another Annie-Fanny letter. He would read only one, he promised himself. It was dated September 30.
Dear Fanny
We did it! We’re married! Dana is impulsive, and I like to make quick decisions, so we simply went across the state line to a place where a couple can get the knot tied without red tape. (Knot! Tape! Ha ha! Don’t mind me, I’m tipsy with bliss!) I never wanted a big wedding, although Mother had dreams of seeing me in Grandmother’s wedding dress with a ten-foot train and eight bridesmaids in floppy hats. And, of course, a reception for two hundred guests! I knew, and she knew, that Dad would never foot the bill for such an extravaganza.
So here we are, married and TOTALLY happy! My apartment is rather snug for two – unless they’re madly in love. Someday we’ll have a lovely house in the suburbs, and a garden, and a car, and an attached garage. Dana is working parttime at Marshall Field, and the library gave me a token raise, and we’re saving our pennies.
