The Extra Day | Page 4

common with all other
living things, they shared this enticing feeling--that Something
Wonderful was going to happen. To be without this feeling, of course,
is to be not alive; but, once alive, it cannot be escaped. At death it
asserts itself most strongly of all--Something Too Wonderful is going
to happen. For to die is quite different from being not alive. This
feeling is the proof of eternal life--once alive, alive for ever. To live is
to feel this yearning, huge expectancy.
Daddy had taught them this, though, of course, they knew it
instinctively already. And any moment now the door would open and
his figure, familiar, yet each time more wonderful, would cross the
threshold, close the door behind him, and ... something desirable would
happen.
"I wish he'd hurry," said Tim impatiently. "There won't be any time
left." And he glanced at the cruel clock that stopped all their pleasure
but never stopped itself. "The motor got here hours ago. He can't
STILL be having tea." Judy, her brown hair in disorder, her belt
sagging where it was of little actual use, sighed deeply. But there was
patience and understanding in her big, dark eyes. "He's in with Mother
doing finances," she said with resignation. "It's Saturday. Let's sit down
and wait." Then, seeing that Maria already occupied the big armchair,
and sat staring comfortably into the fire, she did not move. Maria was
making a purring, grunting sound of great contentment; she felt no
anxiety of any kind apparently.
But Tim was less particular.

"Alright," he said, squashing himself down beside Maria, whose podgy
form accommodated itself to the intrusion like a cat, "as long as Aunt
Emily doesn't catch him on the way and begin explaining."
"She's in bed with a headache," mentioned Judy. "She's safe enough."
For it was an established grievance against their mother's sister that she
was always explaining things. She was a terrible explainer. She couldn't
move without explaining. She explained everything in the world. She
was a good soul, they knew, but she had to explain that she was a good
soul. They rather dreaded her. Explanations took time for one thing,
and for another they took away all wonder. In bed with a headache, she
was safely accounted for, explained.
"She thinks we miss her," reflected Tim. He did not say it; it just
flashed through his mind, with a satisfaction that added vaguely to his
pleasurable anticipation of what was coming. And this satisfaction
increased his energy. "Shove over a bit," he added aloud to Maria, and
though Maria did not move of her own volition, she was nevertheless
shoved over. The pair of them settled down into the depths of the chair,
but while Maria remained quite satisfied with her new position, her
brother fussed and fidgeted with impatience born of repressed
excitement. "Run out and knock at the door," he proposed to Judy.
"He'll never get away from Mother unless we let him KNOW we're
waiting."
Judy, kneeling on a chair and trying to make it sea-saw, pulled up her
belt, sprang down, then hesitated. "They'll only think it's Thompson and
say come in," she decided. "That's no good."
Tim jumped up, using Maria as a support to raise himself. "I know
what!" he cried. "Go and bang the gong. He'll think it's dressing- time."
The idea was magnificent. "I'll go if you funk it," he added, and had
already slithered half way over the back of the chair when Judy
forestalled him and had her hand upon the door-knob. He encouraged
her with various instructions about the proper way to beat the gong, and
was just beginning a scuffle with the inanimate Maria, who now
managed to occupy the entire chair, when he was aware of a new
phenomenon that made him stop abruptly. He saw Judy's face hanging

in mid-air, six feet above the level of the floor. Her face was flushed
and smiling; her hair hung over her eyes; and from somewhere behind
or underneath her a gruff voice said sternly:
"What are you doing in my Study at this time of night? Who asked you
in?"
The expected figure had entered, catching Judy in the act of opening
the door. He was carrying her in his arms. She landed with a flop upon
the carpet. The desired and desirable thing was about to happen. "Get
out, you lump, it's Daddy." But Maria, accustomed to her brother's
exaggerated language, and knowing it was only right and manly,
merely raised her eyes and waited for him to help her out. Tim did help
her out; half dragging and half lifting, he deposited her in a solid heap
upon the floor, then ran to the figure that now dominated the dim,
fire-lit room, and hugged it with all