Carl moved hesitantly toward him. “It’s probably back in the room. You probably left it back there.”
“Don’t you suppose that’s where it is?” Barbara said.
Verne shook his head.
“Come on,” Carl said. “We can go over and get it.”
“Carl will walk back with you,” Barbara said. “How would that be?”
“I’ve lost it someplace,” Verne said.
Carl and Barbara looked helplessly at each other. No one spoke. Verne went over and sat down on the bed. The springs sagged under him. He took off his glasses and put them in his coat pocket.
Carl went over and stood by him, not knowing what to do. “Come on,” he said at last. “Let’s go look for it. Maybe you lost it on the way coming over.”
Verne set his mouth, grim and stubborn.
“Don’t you want to go look for it?” Carl said.
Verne said nothing. His small lined face was rigid.
“For God’s sake, Verne,” Barbara said. “Well, we can all go and look for it.”
“Forget the god damn pipe!” Verne stuck his chin out angrily. Then he rubbed his forehead wearily. “Let it go. Forget about it I gave my lighter away, anyhow. Now they’re both gone.”
“Don’t you—”
“Forget it!”
Barbara stood with her arms folded, smoking. At last she put her cigarette out and got another from the pack on the dresser. She held the pack out to Verne.
“Cigarette?”
“I want my pipe.”
Barbara struck a match, lighting her cigarette. She slid the pack into the pocket of her blouse and folded her arms again.
Carl motioned to her, toward the door to the hall. The two of them went outside the room. Carl closed the door behind them. He caught a glimpse of Verne, still sitting on the bed, small and wan, staring ahead of him.
“What’ll we do?” Carl said in a low voice.
Barbara shrugged. “This has happened before. He’ll be all right by tomorrow.”
“Is he—is he going to stay here?”
“I guess he thinks so.”
“But he can’t!”
Barbara considered. “No. He can’t.”
“Then what’ll we do? We have to get him back.”
“Back?”
“To his own room.”
“I wouldn’t worry.”
“What do you mean? Why not?”
“He’ll pass out pretty soon and then you can carry him back. It’s happened before.”
“You don’t seem very worried.”
“Sorry. I—”
“What’s going on out there?” Verne bellowed suddenly, through the door.
“We better go back in,” Barbara said. She opened the door. Verne had put his glasses back on. He glared belligerently as they entered the room. “Where did you go?”
“Out in the hall.”
“Why?”
“No reason.”
Verne grunted. He was silent for a time. “Well?” he said suddenly. “How have you two been getting along?”
“Fine,” Carl said.
“That’s good. What have you been doing?”
“We’ve been listening to Carl’s treatise,” Barbara said.
“That’s nice.”
“But we’ve finished that. Carl was about to go.”
“Why don’t we go back together?” Carl said to Verne. “We can walk back to the dorm together.”
“Oh, there must be something to do here,” Verne said.
“It isn’t that. It’s getting late.”
“What were you doing when I came in?”
“Barbara had fallen asleep.”
“It’s annoying when they do that.”
Carl frowned. “Oh?”
“You’ll find out. Shows an improper lack of interest.”
“It does?”
“One of the many pitfalls in this world. There are many.” Verne’s voice was thick, the words muffled. He droned on, frowning intently, concentrating on each word. “Many pitfalls. Sometimes they fall asleep. Sometimes they get sick on the rug. Sometimes they break things. Sometimes they just get up and walk out.”
“That’s the best,” Barbara said.
Verne raised his eyes. “What?”
“That’s the best idea. When they walk out.”
“Then they have to pay their own bus fare the rest of the way home.”
“It’s worth it.” Barbara was pale. She stubbed her cigarette out harshly. “Maybe you better go on back to your own room.”
Verne blinked. “Why?”
“Yes, let’s go,” Carl said quickly. “Come on.”
“Don’t you people want to talk? What’s the matter with you? Carl likes to talk. He was telling me. Nothing in the world better than a good talk.”
“Carl, take him back with you,” Barbara said. Her voice was hard. She opened the door to the hall.
“For Christ’s sake!” Verne said irritably. “What’s the matter with you?”
“I think we better go.” Carl reached for his arm, but Verne pulled away.
“Don’t be unsociable,” Verne murmured.
“It’s her room.”
“But we’re old friends. Did you know that? Barbara and I are old friends. It’s not right to toss an old friend out like this. In the middle of the night.”
“I think we should go,” Carl said.
“You do? Are you perhaps an authority?” Verne’s voice was drowsy. “I’m astonished.” He belched suddenly, his mouth falling open, his eyes staring glassily. “I beg your pardon. As I was saying. Carl, you don’t seem to realize that I have your best interests at heart.”
“You do?”
“So don’t hurry me. We both have your best interests at heart. You should pay attention.” Verne raised his finger slowly. “All kinds of things you ought to know for your own good. Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Somebody has to explain them to you. It might as well be me. After all, the father always passes on everything to his son.”
“Come on,” Carl said. “Let’s go.”
“Don’t rush me.” Verne set his lips grimly. “I don’t like to be rushed. I have something to tell you. A very important thing. You should listen to me. Sit down and we’ll have a talk. It’s important that we talk. I have worked out a treatise to speak to you.”
“A treatise?”
“An ethical system of philosophy. A very great approach. One of the most valuable sets of approaches in the world. I’ve gone over it in my mind a number of times to make certain that it surpasses all the others. All of the others who came before. Kant. Spinoza. Whoever it is that came before. Lots of them came before. An endless number of them. Each with his five dollars. Only with this you won’t need five dollars.”
Verne’s voice droned off into an indistinct murmur.
“You should have let me tell you before. I told you I wanted to talk to you. Maybe it’s better. Now it’s all worked out. In order. You can’t go wrong. It never fails. You may have to make little changes. That’s where the creative element comes in. The art. From time to time. But not big changes.”
“I don’t understand,” Carl murmured.
“Some like music, for instance. Some don’t. For the ones who like music you should have a phonograph. And albums of records. Bach. Bartok. Stravinsky. And prints on the wall. Modigliani. Kandinsky. Some like to dance. A place is needed. A little dark place. Progressive combo in one corner. Quiet. Not too many people. You have to find what they like.”
Verne swung his head around, searching them out. “What’s the matter? Why are you two looking at me?”
“Let’s go,” Carl said.
“Let me finish. You make changes. Small changes. It varies. You have to work that out yourself. But I teach you the basic system. Sure-fire. Never fails. It has to be learned sometime. Learn it now. I know she’ll be glad to cooperate. Will you cooperate, Barbara? I know she will. I know.” His voice trailed off. “I know.”