Manhunt. Volume 2, Number 10, December, 1954

“And we thank you.” Turning her body inside her dress, she raised her eyebrows at Beau and he edged over and handed her a twenty dollar bill.

“I bet your Daddy owns an oil well, Beau,” she giggled, as she pushed the thirty-five dollars into her imitation alligator handbag. “If you say he does—” Her eyelashes fluttered in genuine welcome, even without oil wells, welcome.

Beau tittered, retreated toward his own bed, sneezed and clawed embarrassedly for his handkerchief while her voice caressed him: “You’re not catching cold are you honey?”

“If you think I might give you a cold, I—” Beau’s glance drifted uneasily toward the door.

She winked at Fred, who chuckled half-heartedly.

Her delighted shriek rang like glass against the walls.

“Quiet,” Fred gasped in agony. “Her room’s practically underneath us.”

Stretching luxuriously with a sleepy hiccough, she gurgled: “Texas, stop scratching yourself and come to mama.”

“Gawd, Fred, pour me another.” He edged around her extended nylons and sat down close to Fred. But his rosy face was beaming at her, and he wiggled away from Fred.

Fred stood up haughtily.

At that pregnant moment, the arthritic footsteps of Mrs. Danielson started clumping up the inner stairway. Fred’s glass and bottle clashed as Beau jumped up. The woman whinnied in sudden decrease of humor, and her eyes tried to focus together on the door.

The hard-heeled steps measured three doorways to theirs and stopped — audible breathing through the door.

“Who’s in there, Fred?” Mrs. Danielson’s keys jingled.

The lock clicked. Beau and Fred stared at each other in horror. Fred made a pushing motion with his hand and Beau, who was closer, caught the door with his foot and shoulder, but Mrs. Danielson was heavier than he and wheezingly determined. Through the widening door space his head disappeared and his voice mumbled something unintelligible.

Mrs. Danielson’s voice exploded like a string of firecrackers. “Beaumont Compton, you’ve been drinking!”

Inside, the blonde woman stood up, shook out her dress and in one fluid motion engulfed the square bottle within her cavernous purse.

Her voice flowed smoothly over Beau’s stammer. “Open the door, Beau dear. I don’t know where your manners have gone. I do so want to meet your housemother.”

With a moan, Beau stepped back and the door bumped after him.

Iron-grey hair strangling across her forehead, arms akimbo, the elderly woman stared. Her expression of tight-lipped distrust loosened uncertainly as the blonde woman crunched brightly on a peppermint from her purse, then stepped forward with her arms extended in feminine greeting.

“Oh, Mrs. Danielson, I’ll have to apologize for Beau and introduce myself. I’m Mrs. Compton, Beau’s mother. Beau has written me such nice things about you. I know you have made this a regular home away from home for him.”

Mrs. Danielson stroked self-conciously at her house-dress. “Yes, I do the best I can.” She smiled unevenly. “We have a nice group this semester. I wouldn’t have come up, but the boys are studying for finals and we have absolute quiet after supper so that we can all study.” Her hand made an involuntary lunge as though she had fumbled the ball, and she added glibly: “Of course I didn’t hear you, you weren’t making any noise, I just came up to see if the boys needed fresh towels. I’m so pleased to meet you, Mrs. Compton.”

The blonde woman dimpled. “Yes, and I’m so pleased to meet you. I worry about Beau. In high school he didn’t always turn in his homework on time.” She stroked at Beau’s head, but he shied away as she gushed: “I had an airline change here on my way to Banff for the national convention of my sorority, and I knew the boys would he studying hard for finals, but I was just dying for them to show me around the campus and that divine little village.”

“Yes, it is quaint.” The housemother tittered politely.

“I wonder if I could telephone a cab from here. My plane leaves at eleven o’clock. My, that’s only twenty minutes.”

“Oh yes, we have a pay phone downstairs. Could I make you a cup of tea? Those airline trips are so tiring.”

“That would be awfully nice of you, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

“Oh no, no, dear, my teakettle is already on the stove.”

Past the row of unshaven undergraduate faces that protruded and retracted from doorways, the four of them trailed uncomfortably downstairs. Fred and Beau stood open-mouthed in the lower hall while the woman telephoned for a cab. Before Fred could find words, she retreated from the telephone to the kitchen.

They could hear the two women laughing politely inside.

The cabby’s knock cut short the sophomores’ frantic angry whispers. The blonde woman bustled magically down the hall, politely pursued by Mrs. Danielson.

“Goodbye dear, study hard now.” She kissed Beau deftly and patted Fred’s half-raised hand.

Stepping quickly, she cut them off from the door. “Goodbye Mrs. Danielson, I wouldn’t have missed our little chat for the world. Fm so relieved about Beau.”