I glanced at Charles. I was curious to see how he was taking it. As a matter of fact, he was taking it very well. He was sound asleep.
"Charles may be an exceptional athlete," she was saying, "but he's not a bright boy. It was a pull to get him through high school. He's not a shrewd boy either. He wanted to play football for the University of Pennsylvania, and he didn't want to charge them a cent." Her eyes flew open. "Can you imagine how that made me feel? His giving away his talents free?"
I said, "Yes, I can imagine." I could also imagine how it made the Penn coaching staff feel, too.
"Since Charles is so stupid about the value of money," she said, "I've decided that where he goes, I'll go with him. The college I choose will have to pay his expenses, maintain a home near the campus for me—"
The doorbell rang. "Come in, Mr. Smith," she boomed, and a football coach whom I knew well and whose name was not Smith opened the door and walked into the room.
Mrs. Murphy said to me, "Mrs. Stugere, will you wait in the dining room?"
I winked at the chagrined Mr. Smith. "Don't worry," I said, "I'm traveling under an alias, too." I got up and walked into the dining room.
Five minutes later the doorbell rang again.
Mrs. Murphy boomed, "Come in, Mr. Jones."
I peeked through the glass curtains. Another coach whom I knew well and whose name was not Jones opened the door and walked into the living room.