“No, ma’am,” says Tom firmly. “I live at the Y. I’ve got a summer job in a filling station over in Brooklyn, starting right after Memorial Day.”
“That’s fine,” Mom says. “I wish Davey could get a job. He gets so restless with nothing to do in the summer.”
“Aw, Mom, forget it! You got to fill in about six-hundred working papers if you’re under sixteen.
“Listen, Mom, what I came up for—we thought we’d make some sandwiches and go up to Inwood Park.”
“Inwood? Where’s that?” So I explain to her about the Indian arrowheads, and we get out the classified phone book and look at the subway map, which shows there’s an IND train that goes right to it.
“I get sort of restless myself, with nothing to do,” says Tom. “We just figured we’d do a little exploring around in the woods and get some exercise.”
“Why, yes, that seems like a good idea.” Mom looks at him and nods. She seems to have decided he’s reliable, as well as respectable.
I see there’s some leftover cold spaghetti in the icebox, and I ask Mom to put it in sandwiches. She thinks I’m cracked, but I did this once before, and it’s good, ’specially if there’s plenty of meat and sauce on the spaghetti. We take along a bag of cherries, too.
“Thanks, Mom. Bye. I’ll be back before supper.”
“Take care,” she says. “No fights.”