This Old Souse Read Online Free Page B

spare my hip by riding around in his pouch.”
    Crossing the street, the cousins peered up through the narrow path that was flanked by towering camellia and lily-of-the-valley bushes. They could see the arched front entrance. The door was made of vertical mahogany planks with three ornamental hinges and a matching knocker. Faded multihued tiles surrounded the door. The large arched first-story window was made of tinted glass. There were two smaller rectangular windows in the tower, one on the first floor, the other on the second. There was no lawn—only dirt, rocks, and a few weeds. Despite the secluded setting and beauty of design, the overall impression was bleak. Judith sensed that this was not—perhaps never had been—a happy house.
    â€œIt’s terribly sad,” Judith declared. “It’s not just the feeling of neglect. There’s despair, too, and hopelessness.”
    Renie nodded. “I’m becoming depressed just looking at it. But doesn’t it make you curious?”
    The human element—or lack of it—moved Judith, who was always intrigued by other people. “Yes. Yes, I have to admit it does.”
    Renie turned to watch the mailman come across the street. “Good grief!” she exclaimed under her breath. “I don’t believe it! That’s Morty! I thought he would have retired by now.”
    â€œMorty?” The name rang a bell with Judith. “The one who always left a trail of mail behind him and read all the magazines before he delivered them?”
    â€œThe very same,” Renie replied. “And here comes his awful dog, Zip Code.”
    â€œSon or grandson of Zip Code,” Judith murmured.
    Morty stopped at the curb, peering at Renie. “Do I know you?”
    It had been going on forty years since Renie and Morty’s last encounter. Both had been in their early twenties. Renie had bawled out Morty for delivering her copy of Vogue with mustard and ketchup smeared on its summer bathing-suit layout. Drool, too, she’d told him at the time.
    â€œI don’t think so,” Renie lied. Then she smiled. It was a big mistake.
    â€œThose teeth!” Morty shouted, recoiling so fast that he dropped several pieces of mail. “You! It’s Fang!”
    Zip Code, a shaggy golden retriever, hid behind his master and growled.
    â€œOkay, okay,” Renie said in an impatient voice. “Skip the past history. We’re both older and hopefully wiser.” Indeed, Morty’s blond hair was almost white and his ramrod posture had deteriorated into a sorry slouch. “Have you always been on this part of the route?”
    â€œWhy do you care?” Morty shot back. “How many times did you report me to the Langford post office?”
    â€œI only did that once,” Renie said, “after I found my IRS refund in the hydrangea after the leaves fell off in the fall. It was my folks who called the post office about a dozen times. Dad hit the roof when you tore the fishing-hole maps out of his Northwest Angler magazine.”
    â€œSo I had a hobby on my days off,” Morty shot back. “What did you expect me to do? Play golf and walk eighteen holes? You should see my feet, they look like corncobs.”
    â€œPlease.” Renie put her hands over her eyes. “Why haven’t you retired?”
    â€œI will,” Morty replied, “end of the month.”
    â€œCongratulations.” Renie smirked. “To the people on your route, that is.”
    Judith tapped Renie’s arm. “Coz…” None too gently, she pushed Renie out of the way. The ungroomed Zip Code came out from behind Morty and warily approached the cousins. “That’s a”—there were times when Judith couldn’t tell a fib even in a good cause—“a real doggie dog. How long have you had him?”
    â€œThis guy?” Morty leaned forward to pat the dog’s scruffy rump. “Twelve years.