Henry Slesar, young New York advertising executive and by now nolonger a new-comer to either this magazine or to this field, describesa strange little town that you, yourself, may blunder into one of theseevenings. But, if you do, beware—beware of the Knights!
The woman in the doorway looked so harmless. Whowas to tell she had some rather startling interests?
The woman in thedoorway looked like Mom inthe homier political cartoons.She was plump, apple-cheeked,white-haired. Shewore a fussy, old-fashionednightgown, and was busilyclutching a worn house-robearound her expansive middle.She blinked at Sol Becker'srain-flattened hair and hang-dogexpression, and said:"What is it? What do youwant?"
"I'm sorry—" Sol's voicewas pained. "The man in thediner said you might put meup. I had my car stolen: ahitchhiker; going to Salinas ..."He was puffing.
"Hitchhiker? I don't understand."She clucked at thesight of the pool of water hewas creating in her foyer."Well, come inside, for heaven'ssake. You're soaking!"
"Thanks," Sol said gratefully.
With the door firmly shutbehind him, the warm interiorof the little house coveredhim like a blanket. Heshivered, and let the warmthseep over him. "I'm terriblysorry. I know how late it is."He looked at his watch, butthe face was too misty tomake out the hour.
"Must be nearly three," thewoman sniffed. "You couldn'thave come at a worse time. Iwas just on my way tocourt—"
The words slid by him. "IfI could just stay overnight.Until the morning. I couldcall some friends in San Fernando.I'm very susceptible tohead colds," he added inanely.
"Well, take those shoes off,first," the woman grumbled."You can undress in the parlor,if you'll keep off the rug.You won't mind using thesofa?"
"No, of course not. I'd behappy to pay—"
"Oh, tush, nobody's askingyou to pay. This isn't a hotel.You mind if I go back upstairs?They're gonna missme at the palace."
"No, of course not," Solsaid. He followed her intothe darkened parlor, andwatched as she turned thescrew on a hurricane-stylelamp, shedding a yellow poolof light over half a flowerysofa and a doily-covered wingchair. "You go on up. I'll beperfectly fine."
"Guess you can use a towel,though. I'll get you one,then I'm going up. We wakepretty early in this house.Breakfast's at seven; you'llhave to be up if you wantany."
"I really can't thank youenough—"
"Tush," the woman said.She scurried out, and returneda moment later with athick bath towel. "Sorry Ican't give you any bedding.But you'll find it nice andwarm in here." She squintedat the dim face of a ship's-wheelclock on the mantle,and made a noise with hertongue. "Three-thirty!" sheexclaimed. "I'll miss thewhole execution ..."
"The what?"
"Goodnight, young man,"Mom said firmly.
She padded off, leaving Solholding the towel. He pattedhis face, and then scrubbedthe wet tangle of brown hair.Carefully, he stepped off thecarpet and onto the stonefloor in front of the fireplace.He removed hisdrenched coat and suit jacket,and squeezed water outover the ashes.
He stripped down to hisunderwear, wondering aboutnext morning's possible embarrassment,and decided touse the damp bath towel as ablanket. The sofa was downyand comfortable. He curledup under the towel, shiveredonce, and closed his eyes.
He was tired and verysleepy, and his customarynightly review was limited toa few detached thoughtsabou