He took off his shoes, shook the sand out of them, and rubbed the sole of one stocking foot slowly, agreeably, for he was conceiving a thought.
If Sharon was going to pull stuff like that on him, he ought to teach her a lesson.
Choir practise was over. Why not go back to the house and see what Lily Anderson was doing?
There was a nice kid, and she admired him—she’d never dare bawl him out.
III
He tiptoed to Lily’s virgin door and tapped lightly.
“Yes?”
He dared not speak—Sharon’s door, in the bulky old house they had taken in Clontar, was almost opposite. He tapped again, and when Lily came to the door, in a kimono, he whispered, “Shhh! Everybody asleep. May I come in just a second? Something important to ask you.”
Lily was wondering, but obviously she felt a pallid excitement as he followed her into the room, with its violet-broidered doilies.
“Lily, I’ve been worrying. Do you think Adelbert ought to have the choir start with ‘A Mighty Fortress Is Our God’ tomorrow, or something a little snappier—get the crowd and then shoot in something impressive.”