get up at eight-thirty the next morning, though, figuring he'd be wrong
and it would be a nice sunny day. I slip on my pants and shirt and go
downstairs with Cat to have a look out. Cat slides out and is halfway down
the stoop when a blast of cold wind hits him. His tail goes up and he
spooks back in between my legs. I push the door shut against the icy wind.

Mom is sitting in the kitchen drinking her tea and she says, "My goodness,
why are you up so early on a holiday? Do you feel sick?"

"Nah, I'm all right." I pour out a cup of coffee to warm my hands on and
dump in three or four spoons of sugar.

"Davey, have you got a chill? You don't look to me as if you felt quite
right."

"Mom, for Pete's sake, it's COLD out! I feel fine."

"Well, you don't have to go out. Why don't you just go back to bed and
snooze and read a bit, and I'll bring you some breakfast."

I see it's got to be faced, so while I'm getting down the cereal and a
bowl, I say, "Well, as a matter of fact, I'm going over to Coney Island
today."

"Coney ISLAND!" Mom sounds like it was Siberia. "What in the world are you
going to do there in the middle of winter?"

"Mom, it's only Columbus Day. We figured we'd go to the aquarium and
then--uh--well, fool around. Some of the pitches are still open, and we'll
get hot dogs and stuff."

"Who's going? Nick?"

"Nick wasn't sure--I'll stop by his house and see." I'd just as soon steer
clear of this "who's going" business, so I start into a long spiel about
how we're studying marine life in biology, and we have to take some notes
at the aquarium. Mom is swallowing this pretty well, but Pop comes into
the kitchen just then and gives me the fishy eye.

"First time I ever heard of you spending a holiday on homework. I bet they
got a new twist palace going out there."

I slam down my coffee cup. "Holy cats! Can't I walk out of here on a
holiday without going through the third degree? What am I, some kind of a
nut or a convict?"

"Just a growing boy," says Pop. "And don't talk so sassy to your mother."

"I'm talking to you!"

Pop draws in a breath to start bellowing, but Mom beats him to it by
starting to wheeze, which she can do without drawing breath.

Pop pats her on the shoulder and gives me a dirty look. "Now, Agnes,
that's all right. I'm not sore. I was just trying to kid him a little bit,
and he flies off the handle."

_I_ fly off the handle! How do you like that?

I give Mom a kiss. "Cheer