I MADE IT very snappy on the phone because I was afraid my parents would barge in on me right in the middle of it. They didn’t, though. Mr. Antolini was very nice. He said I could come right over if I wanted to. I think I probably woke he and his wife up, because it took them a helluva long time to answer the phone. The first thing he asked me was if anything was wrong, and I said no. I said I’d flunked out of Pencey, though. I thought I might as well tell him. He said “Good God,” when I said that. He had a good sense of humor and all. He told me to come right over if I felt like it.

He was about the best teacher I ever had, Mr. Antolini. He was a pretty young guy, not much older than my brother D.B., and you could kid around with him without losing your respect for him. He was the one that finally picked up that boy that jumped out the window I told you about, James Castle. Old Mr. Antolini felt his pulse and all, and then he took off his coat and put it over James Castle and carried him all the way over to the infirmary. He didn’t even give a damn if his coat got all bloody.

When I got back to D.B.’s room, old Phoebe’d turned the radio on. This dance music was coming out. She’d turned it on low, though, so the maid wouldn’t hear it. You should’ve seen her. She was sitting smack in the middle of the bed, outside the covers, with her legs folded like one of those Yogi guys. She was listening to the music. She kills me.

“C’mon,” I said. “You feel like dancing?” I taught her how to dance and all when she was a tiny little kid. She’s a very good dancer. I mean I just taught her a few things. She learned it mostly by herself. You can’t teach somebody how to really dance.

“You have shoes on,” she said. “I’ll take ’em off. C’mon.”

She practically jumped off the bed, and then she waited while I took my shoes off, and then I danced with her for a while. She’s really damn good. I don’t like people that dance with little kids, because most of the time it looks terrible. I mean if you’re out at a restaurant somewhere and you see some old guy take his little kid out on the dance floor. Usually they keep yanking the kid’s dress up in the back by mistake, and the kid can’t dance worth a damn anyway, and it looks terrible, but I don’t do it out in public with Phoebe or anything. We just horse around in the house. It’s different with her anyway, because she can dance. She can follow anything you do. I mean if you hold her in close as hell so that it doesn’t matter that your legs are so much longer. She stays right with you. You can cross over, or do some corny dips, or even

jitterbug a little, and she stays right with you. You can even tango, for God’s sake.

We danced about four numbers. In between numbers she’s funny as hell. She stays right in position. She won’t even talk or anything. You both have to stay right in position and wait for the orchestra to start playing again. That kills me. You’re not supposed to laugh or anything, either.

Anyway, we danced about four numbers, and then I turned off the radio. Old Phoebe jumped back in bed and got under the covers. “I’m improving, aren’t I?” she asked me.

“And how,” I said. I sat down next to her on the bed again. I was sort of out of breath. I was smoking so damn much, I had hardly any wind. She wasn’t even out of breath.

“Feel my forehead,” she said all of a sudden. “Why?”

“Feel it. Just feel it once.”

I felt it. I didn’t feel anything, though. “Does it feel very feverish?” she said. “No. Is it supposed to?”

“Yes―I’m making it. Feel it again.”

I felt it again, and I still didn’t feel anything, but I said, “I think it’s starting to, now.” I didn’t want her to get a goddam inferiority complex.

She nodded. “I can make it go up to over the thermoneter.” “Thermometer. Who said so?”

“Alice Holmborg showed me how. You cross your legs and hold your breath and think of something very, very hot. A radiator or something. Then your whole forehead gets so hot you can burn somebody’s hand.”

That killed me. I pulled my hand away from her forehead, like I was in terrific danger. “Thanks for telling me,” I said.

“Oh, I wouldn’t’ve burned your hand. I’d’ve stopped before it got too―

Shhh!” Then, quick as hell, she sat way the hell up in bed.

She scared hell out of me when she did that. “What’s the matter?” I said. “The front door!” she said in this loud whisper. “It’s them!”

I quick jumped up and ran over and turned off the light over the desk. Then I jammed out my cigarette on my shoe and put it in my pocket. Then I fanned hell out of the air, to get the smoke out―I shouldn’t even have been smoking, for God’s sake. Then I grabbed my shoes and got in the closet and shut the door. Boy, my heart was beating like a bastard.

I heard my mother come in the room.

“Phoebe?” she said. “Now, stop that. I saw the light, young lady.”

“Hello!” I heard old Phoebe say. “I couldn’t sleep. Did you have a good time?”

“Marvelous,” my mother said, but you could tell she didn’t mean it. She

doesn’t enjoy herself much when she goes out. “Why are you awake, may I ask? Were you warm enough?”

“I was warm enough, I just couldn’t sleep.”

“Phoebe, have you been smoking a cigarette in here? Tell me the truth, please, young lady.”

“What?” old Phoebe said. “You heard me.”

“I just lit one for one second. I just took one puff. Then I threw it out the window.”

“Why, may I ask?” “I couldn’t sleep.”

“I don’t like that, Phoebe. I don’t like that at all,” my mother said. “Do you want another blanket?”

“No, thanks. G’night!” old Phoebe said. She was trying to get rid of her, you could tell.

“How was the movie?” my mother said.

“Excellent. Except Alice’s mother. She kept leaning over and asking her if she felt grippy during the whole entire movie. We took a taxi home.”

“Let me feel your forehead.”

“I didn’t catch anything. She didn’t have anything. It was just her mother.” “Well. Go to sleep now. How was your dinner?”

“Lousy,” Phoebe said.

“You heard what your father said about using that word. What was lousy about it? You had a lovely lamb chop. I walked all over Lexington Avenue just to―”

“The lamb chop was all right, but Charlene always breathes on me whenever she puts something down. She breathes all over the food and everything. She breathes on everything.”

“Well. Go to sleep. Give Mother a kiss. Did you say your prayers?” “I said them in the bathroom. G’night!”

“Good night. Go right to sleep now. I have a splitting headache,” my mother said. She gets headaches quite frequently. She really does.

“Take a few aspirins,” old Phoebe said. “Holden’ll be home on Wednesday, won’t he?”

“So far as I know. Get under there, now. Way down.”

I heard my mother leave and close the door behind her. I waited a couple of minutes, then emerged from the closet. I bumped right into Phoebe, who was up and coming to check on me. “Did I hurt you?” I whispered, since my parents were home. “I need to get going,” I said, feeling my way to the edge of the bed in the dark. I sat down and started putting on my shoes, my nerves getting the best of me.

“Don’t go now,” Phoebe whispered. “Wait until they’re asleep.”

“No, now’s the best time,” I insisted. “She’ll be in the bathroom, and Daddy will probably turn on the news or something. It’s the best chance I’ve got.” I was so anxious I could barely tie my shoelaces. It wouldn’t have been dangerous if they’d caught me, but it would have been pretty unpleasant. “Where are you?” I asked Phoebe, still unable to see her in the dark.

“I’m here,” she said, right next to me, though I hadn’t noticed her.

“I’ve got my bags at the station,” I said. “Do you have any money, Phoebe? I’m almost out.”

“Just my Christmas money for presents. I haven’t done any shopping yet.”

“Oh.” I didn’t want to take her Christmas money. “Do you want some?” she asked.

“I don’t want to take your Christmas money.”

“I can lend you some,” she said. I heard her fumbling around at D.B.’s desk, opening drawers and feeling around in the pitch-black room. “If you leave, you won’t see me in the play,” she said, her voice sounding odd.

“Yes, I will. I won’t leave before the play. I wouldn’t miss it,” I said. “I’ll probably stay at Mr. Antolini’s place until Tuesday night, then come home. If I get a chance, I’ll call you.”

“Here,” Phoebe said, trying to give me the money. She couldn’t find my hand in the dark.

“Where?”

She placed the money in my hand.

“Hey, I don’t need all this,” I said. “Just give me two bucks, really. Here.” I tried to return the extra, but she refused.

“Take it all. You can pay me back. Just bring it to the play.”

“How much is it?” I asked.

“Eight dollars and eighty-five cents. I spent some already.”

Suddenly, I started to cry, unable to stop despite my efforts to keep quiet. Phoebe was startled and came over to comfort me, but once the tears started, they wouldn’t stop. I was still sitting on the edge of the bed as she wrapped her arms around me. I hugged her back, but it took a long time for me to calm down. I felt like I might choke. Phoebe was shivering in her pajamas, and I tried to make her go back to bed, but she refused. Finally, I stopped crying, buttoned up my coat, and reassured her that I’d stay in touch. She offered for me to sleep with her, but I said I should leave, that Mr. Antolini was waiting for me. I took out my hunting hat from my coat pocket and gave it to her. She loves those silly hats. She didn’t want to take it, but I insisted. I bet she slept with it on. I told her again that I’d call if I could, then I left.

Getting out of the house was surprisingly easier than getting in. I didn’t care much if they caught me now. In fact, I almost wished they would.

I walked all the way downstairs instead of taking the elevator. I went down the back stairs, nearly tripping over numerous garbage cans, but I managed to get out. The elevator boy didn’t see me. He probably still thinks I’m at the Dicksteins’.