e yourself. Go get a sponge to mop up the
soda."

"It's your fault! Mop it up yourself!" I'm too mad now to care what I say.
I charge down the hall to my room and slam the door.

I hear the TV going for a few minutes, then Pop turns it off and goes in
the kitchen to talk to Mom. In a little while he comes down and knocks on
my door. Knocks--that's something. Usually he just barges in.

"Look here now, Dave, we've got to straighten a few things out quietly.
Your mother says she told you you could watch that program, whatever it
was. So O.K., go ahead, you can finish it."

"Yeah, it's about over by now." I'm still sore, and besides Pop's still
standing in my door, so I figure there's a hitch in this somewhere.

"But anyway, you shouldn't get so sore about an old television program
that you shout 'Mop it up yourself' at me."

"Hmm."

"Hmm, nothing."

"Well, I don't think you should turn a guy's TV program off in the middle
without even finding out about it."

Pop says "Hmm" this time, and we both stand and simmer down.

I look at my watch. It's a quarter to eleven. I say, "Well, O.K. I might
as well see the end. Sorry I got sore."

Pop moves out of the doorway. He says, "Hereafter I will only turn off
your TV programs before they start, not in the middle."

Just as I get the TV on and settle down, the doorbell rings.

"Goodness, who could that be so late?" says Mom.

Pop goes to the door. It's Tom, and Hilda is with him. I turn off the
television set--I've lost track of what's happening, and it doesn't seem to
be the grandfather who's the spook after all. It's the first time Hilda
has been to our house, and Tom introduces her around. Then there's one of
those moments of complete silence, with everyone looking embarrassed,
before we all start to speak at once.

"Hilda came to the beach with us," I say.

"I told Tom we shouldn't come so late," says Hilda.

Pop says, "Not late at all. Come in and sit down."

Hilda sits on the sofa, where Cat is curled up. He looks at her, puts his
head back and goes on sleeping.

Mom brings coffee and cookies in from the kitchen, and I pour the rest of
the popcorn into a bowl and pass it around. Tom stirs his coffee
vigorously and takes one sip and puts the cup down.

"Reason we came so late," he says, "Hilda and I have been talking all
evening. We want to get married."

Pop doesn't look as surprised as I do. "Congratulations!" he says.

Tom says, "Thanks" and looks