The Candlestone (32 page)
Billy folded the ticket and put it in his pocket. “I’ll do it.”
Bonnie and Walter jumped to their feet. Bonnie gave him a warm embrace. “Trust in the Lord with all your heart,” she whispered as she drew away.
Walter slapped him on the back. “You’d better learn to speak their language before you go. You won’t even be able to find a bathroom if you don’t learn to say ‘water closet.’”
Billy’s mother reached over and gave her son a hug. “I’m sure the professor will help him with the culture, Walter. If the professor is any indication, Billy will be among the finest of gentlemen.”
A door slammed open, and a line of men tromped into the room from the basement stairwell. With a bag of potato chips in his right hand and the cat, Gandalf, cradled in his left arm, Sir Barlow led the way. Newman followed, his face buried in a
National Geographic
magazine, and Edward marched behind him, playing a high note on a trumpet. The three others brought up the rear, each wearing seventies era leisure suits, Fiske in Creamsicle orange, Standish in avocado green, and Woodrow in electric grape.
“Yes,” Mr. Foley said, his head shaking. “Real gentlemen.”
“We found a fascinating little room,” Barlow explained, “packed with boxes marked ‘Goodwill.’ If these boxes are filled with goodwill, I thought, it should be no harm to investigate their contents. I was surprised to see this assortment of oddities.” He bowed again and handed Gandalf to Billy. “Your cat, sir, has taken quite a liking to me. Perhaps he thinks I am his pajamas.”
Billy took the purring cat. “You mean Gandalf thinks you’re the cat’s pajamas?”
Barlow wiggled his mustache, a crimson blush creeping up from his neck into his cheeks. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
