SUPPERBURGER
367
My nickname is Pony, but I did not tell Supperburger who calls
me Patrick. Some people call me Polo Pony and some call me
Pony Polo, which is silly, and some just call me Pony, like Charles.
Some of the older kids on the hill call me Polo in a sort of mean
way. My mother, being Irish by ancestry, calls me Pat, but she is
the only one who does. She lives in this part of the city, though
not too near, and so I go have suppers with her occasionally. Per–
sonally I like being called Pony though I have often thought of
introducing myself as
Rick
instead, just to see what it would be like
I
having someone call me
Rick.
Anyway, it is Patrick with Supper–
burger. I imagine he is composing right now. This is the fifth time
he has asked me for supper, and I usually come early because I do
not mind waiting in this room. Up above the Kiplings is a shelf of
music books, mostly operas I have never heard of, like
Lakme
and
L'Africaine,
and then
The Tales of Hoffmann
which I think I have
heard of. I have never seen an opera, but Mrs. Supperburger said
they would take me. It was his wife, you see, who was standing
at the window with him that night. I was surprised. I would not
have thought so, but you never know about people for certain.
She usually does not say much, which is the opposite of Charles
and also of most of those ladies I meet in the afternoons. She just
makes tea and sits behind the tea table which is always very pretty,
with china and linen napkins and silverware and usually tomato
sandwiches, though once it was cinnamon toast. Then at the dining
table she makes sure I have enough without forcing it on me like
my mother does. Mrs. Supperburger's name is Ruth, and one night,
when I was in the hall putting on my suede jacket and my hat and
Supperburger had not come downstairs yet, she came up to me and
said very sweetly that I should call her Aunt Ruth if I liked.
It
surprised me because I did not think she would ever say something
as
openly as that. So I call her Aunt Ruth, even though I think of her
as
Mrs. Supperburger, just as I
think
of
him
as Mr. Supperburger
or just Supperburger as
his
name was on the program. Mrs. Supper–
burger is the sweetest woman I have met, and most of the ladies on
the
hill
are sweet in one way or another. But she is gentle besides
and a little sad, without pitying herself like so many ladies around
here do. When she carries in the tray with the tea it looks very
natural and pretty. I drew her like that
in
one of my classes. She
