TRANSIT BEDTIME A SHORT STORY by Irene Bushell PHIL wished Ethel would stop singing. She was in the bathroom giving Peggy her bath and singing the same little rhyme over and over again. He sat down in the low chair Ethel had given him for his birthday. Tonight it made him feel all cramped up. Leaning back against the leather upholstery and Closing his eyes he drummed his fingers on the brown leather which bounded back beneath his fingers. Ethel had stopped singing and was laughing with Peggy. The noise vibrated within his head. He'd been interviewing secretaries and talking all day. His throat ached. He thought he was coming down with a cold. Moving his hand over to the end-table where Ethel always stacked the magazines and pamphlets, he ran his fingers along the edge of one magazine and up on to the next. Suddenly his fingers hit the edge of a bound book. He opened his eyes. His fingers were tracing the worn edges of A Child's Garden of Verses. It was Peggy's book out of place again. Why couldn't Ethel train her to keep her things in her bedroom. Other parents didn't let their kids run the house. He picked up the book and straightened the pile of magazines. Peggy came out of the bathroom. Her forehead was still damp from the steam and her soft brown hair was dripping on the ends where she had ducked too far back into the water. The robe she pulled too tightly around her was white and green chenile. She looked awfully clean. "Are you going to read that book to me tonight, daddy?" "Daddy's tired tonight," he said. "Did you have a hard day at the office?" Phil smiled in spite of himself. It was funny how smart kids were nowadays especially Peggy. She wouldn't go to school for two years yet and still she remembered everything he said. "Yes, I had a terribly hard day, Sis." "Well, just one story." "I'm awfully tired tonight." He handed the book to her and hoped she'd go ask Ethel to read it. Instead, she slapped his leg. "You promised," she said. "When did I promise?" "You said if I'd eat I could have two stories." "But you didn't eat your carrots," Phil said. She wasn't going to put anything over on him tonight. "Read, Daddy, read!" she said, climbing up on his lap. "No! No stories tonight. You didn't eat the WINTER, 1943 "DON'T CRY, SIS," HE SAID AS HE SAT DOWN ON THE BED. HE HELD HER AGAINST HIM AS SHE DRANK THE WATER. carrots." He lifted her down on to the floor. She started to cry. "You're not nice to me." His head was throbbing with pain. "Now stop crying or you can go into bed right this minute." She turned around and he thought she was going into the bedroom. Instead she went slowly over to the sofa, curled her legs under her as she sat down and opened the book. "How do you like to go up in a swing, Up in the air so blue" She had memorized most of the poems in that book. Her voice went on. It was high and tonight it hurt his head. He imagined it was the way a dog felt when it heard high notes played on a mouth organ. "Rivers and trees and cattle and all Over the country" She sneezed. Go to bed now, you're getting cold," he said sharply. She didn't look up at him but went on talking. "The children sing in far Japan, The children sing in Spain; The organ with the organ man, Is singing in the rain." "Peggy, go to bed!" "No, it isn't time yet," she said and curled her lip the same way Ethel did. Phil stood up and walked over to her. Quickly she stood up and darted past him. He chased her out in the kitchen. Ethel had left the back door open to get the fish-smell out of the house. Peggy ran out the back door, around the front and started down the street. "That kid can sure run," Phil thought. "Peggy, stop!" he shouted. "I don't like you," she said. "Damn it to hell, you come back here!" He stopped. "Hello there, Mr. Graham," Rose Harwood called from her window. Peggy had stopped too, and Phil walked past Harwood's to get her. "Come on," he said, holding (Continued on page 43) 23