The Mysterious Disappearence of Leon by Ellen Raskin Read Free Book Online Page A

done is done,” she said with a sigh and wearily dropped into an armchair. Only then did her nervous guest sit down.
    He began to stammer and stutter again, but finally, painfully, he delivered his message. He had come to apologize for the inconvenience he had caused Mrs. Carillon in Bloomingdale’s. He hoped she didn’t think he had done it deliberately.
    Mrs. Carillon was forgiving.
    He had tried to undo his cuff button from her fishnet bag; in the confusion he had only made it worse.
    Mrs. Carillon was understanding.
    He would have come to her aid sooner, but he was rushed to the hospital to have sixteen stitches put in his forehead.
    Mrs. Carillon was sympathetic.
    He was pleased that he had not been too late to put up bail in time to. . .”
    “Bail?” Mrs. Carillon exclaimed.
    “I thought the protest marchers freed Mrs. Carillon,” Tina said.
    “Oh, n-n-no. I was happy to see that you have so m-m-many friends; but there are legal f-f-formalities, you know.”
    “Then I’m not a living martyr after all.”
    “Living m-m-martyr?” He had never heard that expression before. “You will have to face t-t-trial, so. . .”
    “Trial?” Tina gasped, once again riddled with guilt.
    “Trial?” echoed Mrs. Carillon.
    It was up to Tony to play host. “My name is Tony and this is my sister Tina. What’s yours?”
    The nervous man gave a nervous smile, which no one returned. “D-d-don’t you recognize me, Mrs. C-C-Carillon?”
    Once again she studied the familiar face.
    “Augie Kunkel!”
    “Mrs. C-C-Carillon!”
    They leaped from their seats and met in the middle of the room. Mrs. Carillon grabbed Augie Kunkel’s hands.
    “Augie Kunkel,” she repeated.
    “Mrs. C-C-Carillon.”
    The joyous reunion didn’t last long; they couldn’t think of anything else to say.
    Mrs. Carillon dropped her old friend’s hands and sank back into her chair. Augie Kunkel was well aware of her weariness. He made an awkward exit, taking short little bows while backing out toward the door. Mrs. Carillon watched her childhood playmate about to leave and was overcome with gratitude.
    “Good night, Augie,” she said. “And thank you for everything. Won’t you join us for dinner tomorrow evening?”
    Augie Kunkel’s face lit up with a broad smile, “a nice smile,” thought Mrs. Carillon. “Six o’clock, then,” she said as Tina closed the door after him.
    “What a kind man,” Mrs. Carillon said. “What a shy creature.”
    “Shy creature,” Tina repeated, half-asleep. “Like a bedbug.”
    “Tina!”
    A Namer of Things
    Mr. Kunkel arrived on the dot of six, a few minutes after Mrs. Carillon returned from feeding the sea lions.
    “So good of you to come, Augie,” she said.
    Augie tried to think of something clever to say, but all that came out was a stammered, “F-f-fish?”
    “Roast duck,” Tony answered.
    “Strange, I c-c-could have sworn I smelled f-f-fish.” Too flustered to look at anyone, Mr. Kunkel began to examine the objects in the living room.
    “A violet-glazed figure of the K’ang Hsi,” he said clearly and with authority.
    “A pair of molded flaschenhalter ,” he continued.
    Tina was surprised that he wasn’t stuttering anymore; Tony was amazed that one person could know so much; and Mrs. Carillon was delighted to learn that her objects had names.
    “Blanc de Chine triple lichee box, a Regency carved giltwood fauteuil .”
    “How do you know all that?” Tony asked.
    “Oh, I read b-b-books and know how to look things up. I like to know the n-n-names of everything I see: t-t-trees, flowers, furniture, everything.”
    “Does naming help you make up your mind about things?” Tony needed all the help he could get in this department.
    “N-n-no, not really. I just n-n-name things; I n-n-never go so far as to form an opinion.” Mr. Kunkel stared down at the Oriental rug. “Hamadan Serebend.” He looked up at Tony and smiled shyly.
    Tony had decided one thing: he liked Augie Kunkel. “I