It had been like that for two days. Dad and Jim would huddle for a while, ask Billy some seemingly pointless questions about everything from Columbus to chemistry, then huddle some more. Then they would quiz Bunter, and a lot of that was really silly. Dad had asked Bunter how long his hair was, Burner’s hair for Pete’s sake; asked that right out of the blue. At one point, Jim had quizzed Bunter on some poem. Billy had heard it repeated so often that he still remembered the first line, “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” Jim would substitute the word winter for summer and ask Bunter’s opinion, then the word will for shall, and on and on. It was like the world’s most boring English class, but Dad and Jim seemed really excited about it. The only time that Billy would get worried was when Jim would pull out his test box and take still another copy of something from Bunter; he knew that somewhere on that unit was a button or code that could erase Bunter.
Whatever was going on, Billy was glad that they had let him keep Bunter. That first night, when Dad had called Jim to come over after dinner and they had started all this activity, Billy had been a little afraid that Jim was going to tell him Bunter had to go back to the company. That hadn’t happened. In fact, they had spent almost as much time questioning Billy as they had Bunter, although all the questions were about Bunter: How do you talk to him at school? What does he say? Does he ask questions? When? and on and on. They hadn’t interrupted the nighttime routine that he arid Bunter had developed and nobody said anything about not taking Bunter to school. Besides, having Jim around so much was fun.
Billy looked over at his brother, asleep in the chair. The poor guy looked really tired. Let him sleep. Billy pulled the harness over his head and set Bunter on the table. He looked at the glass eye for a moment then, coming to a decision, he yanked his baseball cap from his back pocket and pulled it down over his head with both hands. He made some loosening up moves, stepped a couple of paces from Bunter and faced him as he would a pitcher. He settled into an imaginary plate and took a couple of practice swings with an imaginary bat.
“Bunter, do you want to work on that routine some more?”
“Surely, Master Bill,” said the box. “Shall I be the straight man?”
Billy took another cut at the air. “Yeah,” he tugged at his cap and crouched over the plate.
Jim snorted and opened his eyes. He yawned, stretched in his seat and rolled his head to unkink it. “Mister Bill,” he mumbled, “did you say something?” Then he noticed Billy’s stance. “What’s up?”
From Billy’s angle, Jim was sitting out in left field. “Jim!” he said, “Hi! Me and Bunter were just going to do a little practice.”
“Hm?” Jim blinked; he was muzzy and looked a little confused.
“Just watch,” said Billy, glad to have an audience. He crouched, fixed Bunter with one eye and took another swing. “Hey, uh, Bunter,” he said, “Do you like baseball?”
“I surely do,” said the box. Jim sat up, interested now in what he thought was coming, amused already at the twist the box’s unchanged English accent gave the routine.
“Me, too. I surely love it.” Billy stood upright and leaned on the bat as on a walking stick. “But you know, I’m new out here and I don’t know the names of the guys on your team.”
At that point, the door opened and Dad walked in followed closely by Sue Waters. “Jim, Billy—” he started to say, but Jim held up a hand for silence. Sue quietly closed the door and the two of them stood in place.
Billy had looked to his right when the door opened and started when he saw who was there. Jim called his attention back with his movement and now had Billy’s eye. As if a recorder was going somewhere, he whispered, “Go ahead,” and nodded encouragement.
“Uh, like I was saying,” said Billy, trying to get back into the patter, “I don’t know the names of the guys on your team.” He hesitated.
“I do. I could tell you.” Burner’s coaching surprised even Billy.
“Cool.” He groped for the next line, “I mean, I’d like to use their nicknames, you know? To be friendly. Like your name. Bunter. Now there’s a real baseball nickname. I can guess why they call you Bunter.”
“You’d be surprised,” said the box. Billy heard Dad stifle a chuckle. He knew he was off script, but the reaction encouraged him.
“So help me out here, Bunter. What’s the name of the guy on first base.”
“Who,” said the box, dryly.
“The guy on first.”
“Who.”
“Didn’t you hear me? I said, who’s on first?” Billy was warming to it now.
“That’s right.”
“What’s right?”
“No, what’s second.”
“Who’s second?
“No, who’s on first.”
“Look,” said Billy, feigning exasperation. “You throw me a slow ball, I swing a little early,” he acted out the movement, “the ball pops... and goes way out to left field. Who catches it?”
“No, Jim does.” The delivery was perfectly dry.
They all broke up. Billy looked proud of himself, while trying to hold back his giggles at the same time. “OK, OK,” Jim laughed. “I have a feeling this can go on for hours. Thank you, Bunter.”
“You are welcome, Mister Phillips.”
“Hey, Dad, glad you’re back,” said Jim. He rose from the chair and moved across the room. “Miss Waters,” he said, “a pleasure,” and held out his hand to her. She smiled and took it. “Call me Sue, please, Jim,” she said, “otherwise I’ll have to call you Master Phillips and I’m not feeling that old.” She smiled at Billy, folding herself to his height in a practiced motion. “Hello, Billy,” she said, arms wrapped before her knees, “I haven’t had the chance to talk with you for some time. How are you?”
“I’m fine, Miss Waters,” he said automatically, “how are you?” although in truth he was now as uncomfortable as a cat in a kennel. Teachers wore uniforms and you talked to them at school. They didn’t wear regular clothes and come to your house.
“I’m well, Billy, thank you.” She indicated the box with a nod. “Is that Bunter?”
“Mm-hm. Yes, Miss Waters.”
“Hello, Bunter,” she said, but there was no answer.
“Well, say hello, Bunter,” Billy said.
“Hello, Bunter,” said the box.
Sue was startled. Billy held back a smile and, instead of saying anything, sat down on the floor. Jim laughed, “These two are big on ambiguity this week.” He joined Billy on the floor.
“So I see,” said Sue. She moved across the room and took a seat, Jack took the other. “Jack, this is the same thing we were talking about on the way over here. The finances should work, I think we’ll get the space and affiliation, but how do we sell the parents? Why should they bother cooperating in this experiment if all they see is a box that can memorize old Abbott and Costello routines?”
“Uh-uh,” interrupted Billy, sensing that Bunter was under attack. “We didn’t memorize it. I mean, we did; Bunter did, anyway, he can memorize anything, but that’s not what we just said. We made that up by ourselves.”
“I understand that, Billy,” said Sue, “all of us do, here in this room. The question is, how do we help other people to understand it?” She leaned forward. “What would you tell them? Why do you think another boy or girl would want to have a Bunter like yours?”
“He’s fun to talk to,” said Billy. He thought for a moment and then added, “he’s like having a friend that’s always there and never gets bored.”