Red Hart Magic Read Online Free

for sale in that store. So what had Chris bought from that counter ‘way at the back? Not a book, because he had looked all over the book table and then gone on.
    She had seen the toys on the other table, but he had not stayed there either. The case at the back—She was sure there had been guns there. A gun! Had Chris bought a gun? He would not dare, and she was sure that the man would not have sold him one either. So—
    “I am late!” Aunt Elizabeth's voice caught Nan's attention. “I'm sorry! But Cousin Philip wanted me to make some phone calls for him, business matters. Come on—there's a taxi waiting. I stopped at Fung-How's and got us a Chinese dinner. That will be fun, won't it? And how was the show?”
    She rattled on, urging them before her into the taxi. Aunt Elizabeth's life, Nan decided, was made up of waiting taxis. There were some big boxes on the seat giving out smells which Nan found queer; probably these contained the Chinese dinner. She shoved them aside and settled into the far corner. Chris sat down carefully, one arm up near his chest. He was holding that thing. Would Aunt Elizabeth notice?
    “How did you like the Disney pictures?” Aunt Elizabeth repeated her question in a new way.
    “All right,” Chris returned without enthusiasm. He wanted nothing but to get back to the apartment as quickly as possible. If he had any luck at all, he could then reach his room andhide the inn (he would have to find somewhere good for that) before Aunt Elizabeth spotted that he carried something.
    “It was fine.” Chris was surprised when Nan spoke up.
    “The second picture was better—” She had seen all of that, while the first one had been something of a muddle because they had missed part. Now she remembered her manners; too belatedly, she knew. Grandma would not have been pleased.
    “Thank you for the tickets, Aunt Elizabeth.” She rather stumbled over the “Aunt Elizabeth” part. “It was good of you to let us go.”
    “I am glad you enjoyed it, child.” Aunt Elizabeth smiled. She might be waiting for some answer from Chris, too. But he was staring straight ahead and said nothing. After a glance at him, Aunt Elizabeth's smile narrowed a little. “Watch out for that carton, Nan. We don't want Egg Foo Yong all over the floor, now do we?”
    Nan obently stead the carton, sniffing at the odor from it. She could not yet make up her mind whether she wanted to try Egg Foo Yong—whatever that was—or not. Mostly she and Grandma always had things one knew, vegetables and fruit from their own garden, meat from the butcher's. Grandma didn't like what she called “fancied-up” food.
    A drizzle began just before they reached the apartment-house door. Aunt Elizabeth spoke sharply when Chris did not reach for his share of the boxes. And for some reason she could not understand, Nan herself took two, leaving him only one. He ought to be able to manage that, even holding on to whatever he had inside his jacket. Aunt Elizabeth lingered topay the taximan, but Haines held the door open for them to hurry through.
    There was the ordeal of the elevator; then Aunt Elizabeth used her key, and they were back in the apartment, carrying the cartons through to the kitchen. Chris set his down with a thump on the table and was gone before Nan could turn around.
    She went to her own room to shed her coat and head scarf. Only this was not her room—its tidiness made it Aunt Elizabeth's, not Nan's. All which really belonged to her was the picture frame—the double one—on the dressing table. One half of that was Grandma, taken last summer out by the big white rosebush. The other was the picture of Mother from the Cleaver Award Dinner—Mother who never was at home in Nan's room the way Grandma fitted in.
    Nan looked at Grandma now. A feeling of loss came over her. She blinked twice hastily. If she was silly enough to cry, Aunt Elizabeth would want to know why. Think of something else—quick! Think of Chris. What had he