People Who Knock on the Door by Patricia Highsmith Read Free Book Online Page A

Arthur asked her what she wanted him to do with the broken dog kennel, for instance. He was glad that she went back into the house and didn’t stand there watching him, though perhaps she was watching him from the kitchen window.
    Arthur hauled a few pieces of old wood and metal, a lawn mower blade rusted beyond salvation, to one side against a fence, as Mrs. DeWitt had suggested, then did the same with a few rocks whose position seemed to have no purpose. After a quarter of an hour of this, he investigated the toolshed for a change of activity, and found a hand mower covered with dust and cobwebs, pruning clippers, hedge clippers, all in need of brushing and oiling. The grass needed cutting, but it wasn’t very high, indicating that whoever had cut it last must have brought his own mover, because Mrs. DeWitt’s hadn’t been used in many a month. There was a broom. Arthur swept. This led to the discovery of rags, 3-in-1 oil, a whetstone. He oiled and sharpened what he could, then took the pruning clippers to the rosebushes. Appalling, he thought, that any human being could let roses get into such a condition.
    When Arthur looked at his wristwatch, it was after 6. He had trimmed the hedges, and he realized that they looked quite pretty now. He began putting tools away, knowing this job always took longer than he thought it would.
    “Arthur?” Mrs. DeWitt called from her back porch. “Come in and have a Coke!”
    He went into the kitchen. Mrs. DeWitt opened a bottle of Coca-Cola for him, but first Arthur took some cold water from the sink, drinking out of this hand. Even Mrs. DeWitt’s glasses on the drainboard looked slightly dirty.
    “Yard looks marvelous, Arthur. I think you did wonders,” she said, smiling.
    Arthur could almost bear to look at her as he lifted the Coke bottle. She was fishing for loose dollar bills in an old leather purse and asking him if he could come again soon. She gave him eight dollars.
    “Thank you, ma’am,” said Arthur, and promised to telephone her Tuesday when he knew how his week was shaping up. Her kitchen smelled of cat dung, and he was eager to leave it.
    Now, he thought, he might try calling Maggie.
    His mother was in the kitchen preparing supper, and Arthur saw her typewriter on the coffee table, where she had been doing work for the Beverley Home.
    “You’ve got a streak of grease across your forehead,” his mother said. “Was it tough work? You look as if you’ve been at it.”
    Arthur laughed. “Just a plain mess! Anybody phone?”
    “No.”
    Arthur took a quick shower, then went into the living room and dialled Maggie’s number. Maggie’s mother answered. Arthur identified himself and asked if Maggie was there.
    “No, she’s away till tomorrow evening.”
    “Oh.—I thought she was away with you and—”
    “She said that?” Betty Brewster laughed. “No, she’s with Gloria Farber. Went to visit Gloria’s aunt in Indianapolis. Shall I tell her you’ll call her again tomorrow night?”
    “Yes. Yes, thanks.” Arthur hung up, puzzled. Gloria Farber’s aunt . What a boring way to spend a weekend! And why should Maggie have told him she was going away with her folks? Was she lying to him and her parents, and was she away with some other fellow?
    At supper, Richard asked Arthur about his work that afternoon, and his pay.
    “Two dollars an hour. Gus Warylsky takes four, I think.”
    “Put that aside toward your college,” said his father.
    “Where’m I going to college?” Robbie asked, frowning.
    “See how good your grades are,” said Lois gently. “What do you want to be, Robbie?”
    Robbie wriggled and thought.
    “Still want to be a fireman?” asked Richard.
    “No. Maybe I’ll be—a brain surgeon.”
    Arthur guffawed. “A brain surgeon! Where’d you get that idea?”
    “I read it,” said Robbie, and his brows came down again in his old defensive-belligerent style as he looked at his brother.
    Arthur kept a pleasant manner. “Well, you just