Senior year started with a whimper. “Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. “Now look here, Veronica, let us be plain with each other. The mother, Cathy Beck, was as patient and as charitable of an individual that Lucy had ever known, a big kindly Polish-American woman with the heart of an angel. He had not taken many steps when he perceived Quilt Arnold in the upper gallery, with a lamp in his hand. She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt.
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