Edith bought the coat.
Strange, Sam thought, that nobody else noticed those coincidences. But Richard wasn’t around all the time, and Edith—well, Edith had the knack of listening to Aubrey’s prattle without hearing nine-tenths of it.
«Aubrey Geezenstack brought home her report card today, Papa. She got ninety in arithmetic and eighty in spelling and—»
And two days later, Sam was calling up the headmaster of the school. Calling from a pay station, of course, so nobody would hear him. «Mr. Bradley, I’d like to ask a question that I have a—uh—rather peculiar, but important, reason for asking. Would it be possible for a student at your school to know in advance exactly what grades… «
No, not possible. The teachers themselves didn’t know, until they’d figured averages, and that hadn’t been done until the morning the report cards were made out, and sent home. Yes, yesterday morning, while the children had their play period.
«Sam,» Richard said, «you’re looking kind of seedy. Business worries? Look, things are going to get better from now on, and with your company, you got nothing to worry about anyway.»
«That isn’t it, Dick. It—I mean, there isn’t anything I’m worrying about. Not exactly, I mean—» And he’d had to wriggle out of the cross-examination by inventing a worry or two for Richard to talk him out of.
He thought about the Geezenstacks a lot. Too much. If only he’d been superstitious, or credulous, it might not have been so bad. But he wasn’t. That’s why each succeeding coincidence hit him a little harder than the last.
Edith and her brother noticed it, and talked about it when Sam wasn’t around.
«He has been acting queer lately, Dick. I’m—I’m really worried. He acts so— Do you think we could talk him into seeing a doctor or a—»
«A psychiatrist? Um, if we could. But I can’t see him doing it, Edith. Something’s eating him, and I’ve tried to pump him about it, but he won’t open up. Y’know—I think it’s got something to do with those damn’ dolls.»
«Dolls? You mean Aubrey’s dolls? The ones you gave her?»
«Yes, the Geezenstacks. He sits and stares at the doll house. I’ve heard him ask the kid questions about them, and he was serious, I think he’s got some delusion or something about them. Or centering on them.»
«But, Dick, that’s—awful.»
«Look, Edie, Aubrey isn’t as interested in them as she used to be, and— Is there anything she wants very badly?»
«Dancing lessons. But she’s already studying violin and I don’t think we can let her—»
«Do you think if you promised her dancing lessons if she gave up those dolls, she’d be willing? I think we’ve got to get them out of the apartment. And I don’t want to hurt Aubrey, so—»
«Well—but what would we tell Aubrey?»
«Tell her I know a poor family with children who haven’t any dolls at all. And—I think she’ll agree, if you make it strong enough.»
«But, Dick, what will we tell Sam? He’ll know better than that.»
«Tell Sam, when Aubrey isn’t around, that you think she’s getting too old for dolls, and that—tell him she’s taking an unhealthy interest in them, and that the doctor advises— That sort of stuff.»
Aubrey wasn’t enthusiastic. She was not as engrossed in the Geezenstacks as she’d been when they were newer, but couldn’t she have both the dolls and the dancing lessons?
«I don’t think you’d have time for both, honey. And there are those poor children who haven’t any dolls to play with, and you ought to feel sorry for them.»
And Aubrey weakened, eventually. Dancing school didn’t open for ten days, though, and she wanted to keep the dolls until she could start her lessons. There was argument, but to no avail.
«That’s all right, Edie,» Richard told her. «Ten days is better than not at all, and—well, if she doesn’t give them up voluntarily, it’ll start a rumpus and Sam’ll find out what we’re up to. You haven’t mentioned anything to him at all, have you?»
«No. But maybe it would make him feel better to know they were—»
«I wouldn’t. We don’t know just what it is about them that fascinates or repels him. Wait till it happens, and then tell him. Aubrey has already given them away. Or he might raise some objection or want to keep them. If I get them out of the place first, he can’t.»
«You’re right, Dick. And Aubrey won’t tell him, because I told her the dancing lessons are going to be a surprise for her father, and she can’t tell him what’s going to happen to the dolls without telling the other side of the deal.»
«Swell, Edith.»
It might have been better if Sam had known. Or maybe everything would have happened just the same, if he had.
Poor Sam. He had a bad moment the very next evening. One of Aubrey’s friends from school was there, and they were playing with the doll house. Sam watching them, trying to look less interested than he was. Edith was knitting and Richard, who had just come in, was reading the paper.
Only Sam was listening to the children and heard the suggestion.
«… and then let’s have a play funeral, Aubrey. Just pretend one of them is—»
Sam Walters let out a sort of strangled cry and almost fell getting across the room.
There was a bad moment, then, but Edith and Richard managed to pass it off casually enough, outwardly. Edith discovered it was time for Aubrey’s little friend to leave, and she exchanged a significant glance with Richard and they both escorted the girl to the door.
Whispered, «Dick, did you see—»
«Something is wrong, Edie, Maybe we shouldn’t wait. After all, Aubrey has agreed to give them up, and—»
Back in the living room, Sam was still breathing a bit hard. Aubrey looked at him almost as though she was afraid of him. It was the first time she’d ever looked at him like that, and Sam felt ashamed. He said, «Honey, I’m sorry I— But listen, you’ll promise me you’ll never have a play funeral for one of your dolls? Or pretend one of them is badly sick or has an accident—or anything bad at all? Promise?»
«Sure, Papa. I’m—I’m going to put them away for tonight.»
She put the lid on the doll house and went back toward the kitchen.
In the hallway, Edie said, «I’ll—I’ll get Aubrey alone and fix it with her. You talk to Sam. Tell him—look, let’s go out tonight, go somewhere and get him away from everything. See if he will.»
Sam was still staring at the doll house.
«Let’s get some excitement, Sam,» Richard said. «How’s about going out somewhere? We’ve been sticking too close to home. It’ll do us good.»
Sam took a deep breath. «Okay, Dick. If you say so. I—I could use a little fun, I guess.»
Edie came back with Aubrey, and she winked at her brother. «You men go on downstairs and get a cab from the stand around the corner. Aubrey and I’ll be down by the time you bring it.»
Behind Sam’s back, as the men were putting on their coats, Richard gave Edith an inquiring look and she nodded.
Outside, there was a heavy fog; one could see only a few yards ahead. Sam insisted that Richard wait at the door for Edith and Aubrey while he went to bring the cab. The woman and girl came down just before Sam got back.
Richard asked, «Did you—?»
«Yes, Dick. I was going to throw them away, but I gave them away instead. That way they’re gone; he might have wanted to hunt in the rubbish and find them if I’d just thrown—»
«Gave them away? To whom?»
«Funniest thing, Dick. I opened the door and there was an old woman going by in the back hall. Don’t know which of the apartments she came from, but she must be a scrubwoman or something, although she looked like a witch really, but when she saw those dolls I had in my hands—»