Information

Pince has a minion!

Minion the Happy Muffin

Pince
Legacy Name: Pince

The Field Xotl

Age: 14 years, 9 months, 3 weeks

Born: May 26th, 2011

Adopted: 13 years, 2 months, 3 weeks ago

Adopted: December 26th, 2012

Statistics

• Level: 8
   
• Strength: 17
   
• Defense: 10
   
• Speed: 10
   
• Health: 9
   
• HP: 10/9
   
• Intelligence: 0
   
• Books Read: 0
• Food Eaten: 0
• Job: Store Clerk

"It was about eight o'clock at night, and dark, and raining, andfreezing, and the wind was noisy the way it is in spooky movies on thenight the old slob with the will gets murdered. I stood by the cannonon the top of Thomsen Hill, freezing to death, watching the big southwindows of the gym--shining big and bright and dumb, like the windowsof a gymnasium, and nothing else (but maybe you never went to aboarding school).

I just had on my reversible and no gloves. Somebody had swiped mycamel's hair the week before, and my gloves were in the pocket. Boy, Iwas cold. Only a crazy guy would have stood there. That's me. Crazy. Nokidding, I have a screw loose. But I had to stand there to feel thegoodbye to the youngness of the place, as though I were an old man. Thewhole school was down below in the gym for the basketball game with theSaxon Charter slobs, and I was standing there to feel the goodbye.

I stood there--boy, I was freezing to death--and I kept saying goodbyeto myself. "Goodbye, Caulfield. Goodbye, you slob." I kept seeingmyself throwing a football around, with Buhler and Jackson, just beforeit got dark on the September evenings, and I knew I'd never throw afootball around ever again with the same guys at the same time. It wasas though Buhler and Jackson and I had done something that had died andbeen buried, and only I knew about it, and no one was at the funeralbut me. So I stood there, freezing.

The game with the Saxon Charter slobs was in the second half, and youcould hear everybody yelling: deep and terrific on the Pentey side ofthe gym, and scrawny and faggoty on the Saxon Charter side, because theSaxon bunch never brought more than the team with them and a fewsubstitutes and managers. You could tell all right when Schutz orKinsella or Tuttle had sunk one on the slobs, because then the Penteyside of the gym went crazy. But I only half cared who was winning. Iwas freezing and I was only there anyway to feel the goodbye, to be atthe funeral of me and Buhler and Jackson throwing a football around inthe September evenings--and finally on one of the cheers I felt thegoodbye like a real knife. I was strictly at the funeral.

So all of a sudden, after it happened, I started running down ThomsenHill, with my suitcases banging the devil out of my legs. I ran all theway down to the Gate; then I stopped and got my breath; then I ranacross Route 202--it was icy and I fell and nearly broke my knee--andthen I disappeared into Hessey Avenue. Disappeared. You disappearedevery time you crossed a street that night. No kidding.

When I got to old Spencer's house--that's where I was going--I put downmy bags on the porch, rang the bell hard and fast and put my hands onmy ears--boy, they hurt. I started talking to the door. "C'mon, c'mon!"I said. "Open up. I'm freezing." Finally Mrs. Spencer came.

"Holden!" she said. "Come in, dear!" She was a nice woman. Her hotchocolate on Sundays was strictly lousy, but you never minded.

I got inside the house fast.

"Are you frozen to death? You must be soaking wet," Mrs. Spencer said.She wasn't the kind of woman that you could just be a little wetaround: you were either real dry or soaking. But she didn't ask me whatI was doing out of bounds, so I figured old Spencer had told her whathappened.

I put down my bags in the hall and took off my hat--boy, I could hardlywork my fingers enough to grab my hat. I said, "How are you,Mrs. Spencer? How's Mr. Spencer's grippe? He over it okay?"

"Over it!" Mrs. Spencer said. "Let me take your coat, dear. Holden he'sbehaving like a perfect I-don't-know-what. Go right in, dear. He's inhis room."

Old Spencer had his own room next to the kitchen. He was about sixtyyears old, maybe even older, but he got a kick out of things in ahalf-shot way. If you though about old Spencer you wondered what he wasliving for, everything about over for him and all. But if you thoughabout him that way, you were thinking about him the wrong way: you werethinking too much. If you thought about him just enough, not too much,you knew he was doing all right for himself. In a half-shot way heenjoyed almost everything all the time. I enjoy thing terrifically, butjust once in a while. Sometimes it makes you think maybe old people geta better deal. But I wouldn't trade places. I wouldn't want to enjoyalmost everything all the time if it had to be in just a half-shot way.

Old Spencer was sitting in the big easy chair in his bedroom, allwrapped up in the Navajo blanket he and Mrs. Spencer bought inYellowstone Park about eighty years ago. They probably got a big bangout of buying it off the Indians.

"Come in, Caulfield!" old Spencer yelled at me. "Come in, boy!"

I went in.

There was an opened copy of the Atlantic Monthly face down on his lap,and pills all over the place and bottles and a hot-water bottle. I hateseeing a hot-water bottle, especially an old guy's. That isn't nice,but that's the way I feel. . .. Old Spencer certainly looked beat out.He certainly didn't look like a guy who ever behaved like a perfectI-don't-know-what. Probably Mrs. Spencer just liked to think he wasacting that way, as if she wanted to think maybe the old guy was stillfull of beans.

"I got your note, sir," I told him. "I would have come over anywaybefore I left. How's your grippe?"

"If I felt any better, boy, I'd have to send for the doctor," oldSpencer said. That really knocked him out. "Sit down, boy," he said,still laughing. "Why in the name of Jupiter aren't you down at thegame?"

I sat down on the edge of the bed. It sort of looked like an old guy'sbed. I said, "Well, I was at the game a while, sir. But I'm going hometonight instead of tomorrow. Dr. Thurmer said I could go tonight if Ireally wanted to. So I'm going."

"Well, you certainly picked a honey of a night," old Spencer said. Hereally thought that over. "Going home tonight, eh?" he said.

"Yes, sir," I said.

He said to me, "What did Dr. Thurmer say to you, boy?"

"Well, he was pretty nice in his way, sir," I said. "He said about lifebeing a game. You know. How you should play it by the rules and all.Stuff like that. He wished me a lot of luck. In the future and all.That kind of stuff."

I guess Thurmer really was pretty nice to me in his slobby way, so Itold old Spencer a few other things Thurmer had said to me. Aboutapplying myself in life if I wanted to get ahead and all. I even madeup some stuff, old Spencer was listening so hard and nodding all thewhile.

Then old Spencer asked me, "Have you communicated with your parentsyet?"

"No, sir," I said. "I haven't communicated with them because I'll seethem tonight."

Old Spencer nodded again. He asked me, "How will they take the news?"

"Well," I said, "they hate this kind of stuff. This is the third schoolI've been kicked out of. Boy! No kidding," I told him.

Old Spencer didn't nod this time. I was bothering him, poor guy. Hesuddenly lifted the Atlantic Monthly off his lap, as though it had gottoo heavy for him, and chucked it towards the bed. He missed. I got upand picked it up and laid it on the bed. All of a sudden I wanted toget the heck out of there.

Old Spencer said, "What's the matter with you, boy? How many subjectsdid you carry this term?"

"Four," I said.

"And how many did you flunk?" he said.

"Four," I said.

Old Spencer started staring at the spot on the rug where the AtlanticMonthly had fallen when he tried to chuck it on the bed. He said, "Iflunked you in history because you knew absolutely nothing. You werenever once prepared, either for examinations or for daily recitations.Not once. I doubt if you opened your textbook once during the term; didyou?"

I told him I'd glanced through it a couple of times, so's not to hurthis feelings. He thought history was really hot. It was all right withme if he thought I was a real dumb guy, but I didn't want him to thinkI'd given his book the freeze.

"Your exam paper is on my chiffonier over there," he said. "Bring itover here."

I went over and got it and handed it to him and sat down on the edge ofthe bed again.

Old Spencer handled my exam paper as though it were something catchingthat he had to handle for the good of science or something, likePasteur or one of those guys.

He said. "We studied the Egyptians from November 3d to December 4th.You chose to write about them for the essay question, from a selectionof twenty-five topics. This is what you had to say:

"'The Egyptians were an ancient race of people living in one of thenorthernmost sections of North Africa, which is one of the largestcontinents in the Eastern Hemisphere as we all know. The Egyptians arealso interesting to us today for numerous reasons. Also, you read aboutthem frequently in the Bible. The Bible is full of amusing anecdotesabout the old Pharaohs. They were all Egyptians as we all know.'"

Old Spencer looked up at me. "New paragraph," he said. "'What is mostinteresting about the Egyptians was their habits. The Egyptians hadmany interesting ways of doing things. Their religion was also veryinteresting. They buried their dead in tombs in a very interesting way.The dead Pharaohs had their faces wrapped up in specially treatedcloths to prevent their features from rotting. Even to this dayphysicians don't know what that chemical formula was, thus all ourfaces rot when we are dead for a certain length of time.'" Old Spencer looked over the paper at me again. I stopped looking athim. If he was going to look up at me every time he hit the end of aparagraph, I wasn't going to look at him.

"Do you blame me for flunking you, boy?" old Spencer asked me. "Whatwould you have done in my place?"

"The same thing," I said. "Down with the morons." But I wasn't givingit much thought at the minute. I was sort of wondering if the lagoon inCentral Park would be frozen over when I got home, and if it was frozenover would everybody be ice skating when you looked out the window inthe morning, and where did the ducks go, what happened to the duckswhen the lagoon was frozen over. But I couldn't have told all that toold Spencer.

He asked me, "How do you feel about all this, boy?"

"You mean my flunking out and all, sir?" I said.

"Yes," he said.

Well, I tried to give it some thought because he was a nice guy andbecause he kept missing the bed all the time when he chucked somethingat it.

"Well, I'm sorry I'm flunking out, for lots of reasons," I said. I knewI could never really get it over to him. Not about standing on ThomsenHill and thinking about Buhler and Jackson and me. "Some of the reasonswould be hard to explain right off, sir," I told him. "But tonight, forinstance, " I said. "Tonight I had to pack my bags and put my ski bootsin them. The ski boots made me sorry I'm leaving. I could see my motherchasing around stores, asking the salesmen a million dumb questions.Then she bought me the wrong kind anyway. Boy, she's nice, though. Nokidding. That's mostly why I'm sorry I'm flunking out. On account of mymother and the wrong ski boots." That's all I said. I had to quit.

Old Spencer was nodding the whole time, as though he understood it all,but you couldn't tell whether he was nodding because he was going tounderstand anything I might tell him, or if he was only nodding becausehe was just a nice old guy with the grippe and a screwball on hishands.

"You'll miss the school, boy," he said to me.

He was a nice guy. No kidding. I tried to tell him some more. I said,"Not exactly, sir. I'll miss some stuff. I'll miss going and coming toPentey on the train; going back to the dining car and ordering achicken sandwich and a Coke, and reading five new magazines with allthe pages slick and new. And I'll miss the Pentey stickers on my bag.Once a lady saw them and asked me if I knew Andrew Warbach. She wasWarbach's mother, and you know Warbach, sir. Strictly a louse. He's thekind of a guy, when you were a little kid, that twisted your wrist toget the marbles out of your hand. But his mother was all right. Sheshould have been in a nut house, like most mothers, but she lovedWarbach. You could see in her nutty eyes that she thought he was hotstuff. So I spent nearly an hour on the train telling her what a hotshot Warbach is at school, how none of the guys ever make a move andall without going to Warbach first. It knocked Mrs. Warbach out. Shenearly rolled in the aisle. She probably half knew he was a louse inher heart, but I changed her mind. I like mothers. They give me aterrific kick."

I stopped. Old Spencer wasn't following. Maybe he was a little bit, butnot enough to make me want to get into it deep. Anyway, I wasn't sayingmuch that I wanted to say. I never do. I'm crazy. No kidding.

Old Spencer said: "Do you plan to go to college, boy?"

"I have no plans, sir," I said. "I live from one day to the next." Itsounded phony, but I was beginning to feel phony. I was sitting thereon the edge of that bed too long. I got up suddenly.

"I guess I better go, sir," I said. "I have to catch a train. You'vebeen swell. No kidding."

Well, Old Spencer asked me if I didn't want a cup of hot chocolatebefore I left, but I said no thanks. I shook hands with him. He wassweating pretty much. I told him I'd write him a letter sometime, thathe shouldn't worry about me, that he oughtn't to let me get him down. Itold him that I knew I was crazy. He asked me if I were sure I didn'twant any hot chocolate, that it wouldn't take long.

"No," I said, "goodbye, sir. Take it easy with your grippe now."

"Yes," he said, shaking hands with me again. "Goodbye, boy."

He called something after me while I was leaving, but I couldn't hearhim. I think it was good luck. I really felt sorry for him. I knew whathe was thinking: how young I was, how I didn't know anything about theworld and all, what happened to guys like me and all. I probably gothim down for a while after I left, but I'll bet later on he talked meover with Mrs. Spencer and felt better, and he probably hadMrs. Spencer hand him his Atlantic Monthly before she left the room.

It was after one that night when I got home, because I shot the bullfor around a half hour with Pete, the elevator boy. He was telling meall about his brother-in-law. His brother-in-law is a cop, and he shota guy; he didn't need to, but he did it to be a big shot, and nowPete's sister didn't like to be around Pete's brother-in-law any more.It was tough. I didn't feel so sorry for Pete's sister, but I feltsorry for Pete's brother-in-law, the poor slob.

Jeannette, our colored maid, let me in. I lost my key somewhere. Shewas wearing one of those aluminum jobs in her hair, guaranteed toremove the kink.

"What choo doin' home, boy?" she said. "What choo doin' home, boy?" Shesays everything twice.

I was pretty sick and tired of people calling me "boy," so I just said,"Where are the folks?"

"They playin' bridge," she said. "They playin' bridge. What choo doin'home, boy?"

"I came home for the race," I said.

"What race?" the doe said.

"The human race. Ha, ha, ha," I said. I dropped my bags and coat in thehall and got away from her. I shoved my hat on the back of my head,feeling pretty good for a change, and walked down the hall and openedPhoebe and Viola's door. It was pretty dark, even with the door open,and I nearly broke my neck getting over to Phoebe's bed.

I sat down on her bed. She was asleep, all right.

"Phoebe," I said. "Hey, Phoebe!"

She waked up pretty easily.

"Holden!" she said anxiously. "What are you doing home? What's thematter? What happened?"

"Aah, the same old stuff," I said. "What's new?"

"Holdie, what are you doing home?" she said. She's only ten, but whenshe wants an answer she wants an answer.

"What's the matter with your arm?" I asked her. I noticed a hunk ofadhesive tape on her arm.

"I banged it on the wardrobe doors," she said. "Miss Keefe made meMonitor of the Wardrobe. I'm in charge of everybody's garments." Butshe got right back to it again. "Holdie," she said, "what are you doinghome?"

She sounds like a goody-good, but it was only when it came to me.That's because she likes me. She's no goody-good, though. Phoebe'sstrictly one of us, for a kid.

"I'll be back in a minute," I told her, and I went back in the livingroom and got some cigarettes out of one of the boxes, put them in mypocket; then I went back. Phoebe was sitting up straight, looking fine.I sat down on her bed again.

"I got kicked out again," I told her.

"Holden!" she said, "Daddy'll kill you."

"I couldn't help it, Phoeb," I said. "They kept shoving stuff at me,exams and all, and study periods, and everything was compulsory all thetime. I was going crazy. I just didn't like it."

"But, Holden," Phoebe said, "you don't like anything." She reallylooked worried.

"Yes, I do. Yes, I do. Don't say that, Phoeb," I said. "I like a heckof a lot of stuff."

Phoebe said, "What? Name one thing."

"I don't know. Gosh, I don't know," I told her. "I can't think any moretoday. I like girls I haven't met yet; girls that you can just see thebacks of their heads, a few seats ahead of you on the train. I like amillion things. I like sitting here with you. No kidding, Phoeb. I likejust sitting her with you."

"Go to bed, Viola," Phoebe said. Viola was up. "She squeezes right outthrough the bars," Phoebe told me.

I picked up Viola and sat her on my lap. A crazy kid if ever there wasone, but strictly one of us.

"Holdie," Viola said, "make Jeannette give me Donald Duck."

"Viola insulted Jeannette, and Jeannette took away her Donald Duck,"Phoebe said.

"Her breath is always all the time bad," Viola told me.

"Her breath," Phoebe said. "She told Jeannette her breath was bad. WhenJeannette was putting on her leggings."

"Jeannette breathes on me all the time," Viola said, standing on me.

I asked Viola if she had missed me, but she looked as though sheweren't sure whether or not I'd been away.

"Go on back to bed no, Viola," Phoebe said. "She squeezes right outthrough the bars."

"Jeannette breathes on me all the time and she took away Donald Duck,"Viola told me again.

"Holden'll get it back," Phoebe told her. Phoebe wasn't like otherkids. She didn't take sides with the maid.

I got up and carried Viola back to her crib and put her in it. Sheasked me to bring her something, but I couldn't understand her.

"Ovvels," Phoebe said. "Olives. She's crazy about olives now. She wantsto eat olives all the time. She rang the elevator bell when Jeannettewas out this afternoon and had Pete open up a can of olives for her."

"Ovvels," Viola said. "Bring ovvels, Holdie."

"Okay," I said.

"With the red in them," Viola said.

I told her okay, and said to go to sleep. I tucked her in, then Istarted to go back where Phoebe was, only I stopped so short it almosthurt. I heard them come in.

"That's them!" Phoebe whispered. "I can hear Daddy!"

I nodded, and walked toward the door. I took off my hat.

"Holdie!" Phoebe whispered at me. "Tell 'em how sorry you are. All thatstuff, and how you'll do better next time!"

I just nodded.

"Come back!" Phoebe said. "I'll stay awake!"

I went out and shut the door. I wished I had hung up my coat and putaway my bags. I knew they'd tell me how much the coat cost and howpeople tripped over bags and broke their necks.

When they were all done with me I sent back to the kids' room. Phoebewas asleep, and I watched her a while. Nice kid. Then I went over toViola's crib. I lifted her blanket and put her Donald Duck in therewith her; then I took some olives I had in my left hand and laid themone by one in a row along the railing of her crib. One of them fell onthe floor. I picked it up, felt dust on it, and put it in my jacketpocket. Then I left the room.

I went into my own room, turned the radio on, but it was broken. So Iwent to bed.

I lay awake for a pretty long time, feeling lousy. I knew everybody wasright and I was wrong. I knew that I wasn't going to one of thosesuccessful guys, that I was never going to be like Edward Gonzales orTheodore Fisher or Lawrence Meyer. I knew that this time when Fathersaid that I was going to work in that man's office that he meant it,that I wasn't going back to school again ever, that I wouldn't likeworking in an office. I started wondering again where the ducks inCentral Park went when the lagoon was frozen over, and finally I wentto sleep."

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