JК
The Colorado Kid :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 9 из 81”
“I don’t believe yellow legal pads had been invented in Victorian times,” Stephanie said. She shuffled through the papers on her desk. When she had come to MooseLook andThe Weekly Islander in June, they had given her the smallest desk in the place—little more than a gradeschooler’s desk, really—away in the corner. In midJuly she had been promoted to a bigger one in the middle of the room. This pleased her, but the increased deskspace also afforded more area for things to get lost in. Now she hunted around until she found a bright pink circular. “Do either of you know what organization profits from the Annual EndOfSummer Gernerd Farms Hayride, Picnic, and Dance, this year featuring Little Jonna Jaye and the Straw Hill Boys?”
“That organization would be Sam Gernerd, his wife, their five kids, and their various creditors,” Vince said, and his machine beeped. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, Steff, you’ve done a swell job on that little column of yours.”
“Yes, you have,” Dave agreed. “We’ve gotten two dozen letters, I guess, and the only bad one was from Mrs. Edina Steen the Downeast Grammar Queen, and she’s completely mad.”
“Nuttier than a fruitcake,” Vince agreed.
Stephanie smiled, wondering at how rare it was once you graduated from childhood—this feeling of perfect and uncomplicated happiness. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you both.” And then: “Can I ask you something? Straight up?”
Vince swiveled his chair around and looked at her. “Anything under the sun, if it’ll keep me away from Mrs. Dunwoodie and the fire hydrant,” he said.
“And me away from doing invoices,” Dave said. “Although I can’t go home until they’re finished.”
“Don’t you make that paperwork your boss!” Vince said. “How many times have I told you?”
“Easy for you to say,” Dave returned. “You haven’t looked inside theIslander checkbook in ten years, I don’t think, let alone carried it around.”
Stephanie was determined not to let them be sidetracked—or to let them sidetrack her—into this old squabble. “Quit it, both of you.”
They looked at her, surprised into silence.
“Dave, you pretty much told that Mr. Hanratty from theGlobe that you and Vince have been working together on theIslander for forty years—”
“Ayuh—”
“—and you started it up in 1948, Vince.”
“That’s true,” he said. “’TwasThe Weekly Shopper and Trading Post until the summer of ’48, just a free handout in the various island markets and the bigger stores on the mainland. I was young and bullheaded and awful lucky.
“I don’t believe yellow legal pads had been invented in Victorian times,” Stephanie said. She shuffled through the papers on her desk. When she had come to MooseLook andThe Weekly Islander in June, they had given her the smallest desk in the place—little more than a gradeschooler’s desk, really—away in the corner. In midJuly she had been promoted to a bigger one in the middle of the room. This pleased her, but the increased deskspace also afforded more area for things to get lost in. Now she hunted around until she found a bright pink circular. “Do either of you know what organization profits from the Annual EndOfSummer Gernerd Farms Hayride, Picnic, and Dance, this year featuring Little Jonna Jaye and the Straw Hill Boys?”
“That organization would be Sam Gernerd, his wife, their five kids, and their various creditors,” Vince said, and his machine beeped. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, Steff, you’ve done a swell job on that little column of yours.”
“Yes, you have,” Dave agreed. “We’ve gotten two dozen letters, I guess, and the only bad one was from Mrs. Edina Steen the Downeast Grammar Queen, and she’s completely mad.”
“Nuttier than a fruitcake,” Vince agreed.
Stephanie smiled, wondering at how rare it was once you graduated from childhood—this feeling of perfect and uncomplicated happiness. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you both.” And then: “Can I ask you something? Straight up?”
Vince swiveled his chair around and looked at her. “Anything under the sun, if it’ll keep me away from Mrs. Dunwoodie and the fire hydrant,” he said.
“And me away from doing invoices,” Dave said. “Although I can’t go home until they’re finished.”
“Don’t you make that paperwork your boss!” Vince said. “How many times have I told you?”
“Easy for you to say,” Dave returned. “You haven’t looked inside theIslander checkbook in ten years, I don’t think, let alone carried it around.”
Stephanie was determined not to let them be sidetracked—or to let them sidetrack her—into this old squabble. “Quit it, both of you.”
They looked at her, surprised into silence.
“Dave, you pretty much told that Mr. Hanratty from theGlobe that you and Vince have been working together on theIslander for forty years—”
“Ayuh—”
“—and you started it up in 1948, Vince.”
“That’s true,” he said. “’TwasThe Weekly Shopper and Trading Post until the summer of ’48, just a free handout in the various island markets and the bigger stores on the mainland. I was young and bullheaded and awful lucky.