Two days later, when Bill came home from work, he dumped himself into an easy chair and said, "Saw a funny thing today." "I had a letter at last from Barbara," said Carrie absently, patting her hair into place and wondering what her husband would think of her if now, at the age of forty, she dyed her hair red. Bill always told her that as a brunette she was both young-looking and pretty. The question was, would he tell her the same thing if she were a redhead? Probably not. Men were foolishly conservative about such things. "Barbara said school supplies are very expensive this year," she went on. "She wants more money." "It was really funny." If she could ignore his conversation he could ignore hers right back. That was one of the unfortunate things, she realized, that marriage taught a man. "You know that vacant lot with the broken fence, where the kids play? Know who I saw playing baseball there today?" "James, of course. But, Bill, Barbara said--" "James was pitching. But you'll never guess who was catching." Bill was being silly, just like the big baby he was. At his age, to think that a children's baseball game was important! But she didn't mind humoring him. She guessed, "That big puffy-faced boy from down the street, with the hair so blond it's almost invisible?" "No." He leaned back, waiting for her to guess again. "I'm sure I haven't any idea who it was," she said. "But does it matter? According to Barbara--" "It was Reardon, the cop. You know, the one with the stomach." "Reardon?" She stared at him. "Why, he's been chasing them off that lot every day. He _hates_ kids. You must be mistaken." "I'm not mistaken. He was catching there, acting like a kid himself, when who should come along out of a police car but Lieutenant Puffinger from the local precinct. Well, you should have heard him when he saw what Reardon was doing. I'll bet those kids learned a few words they didn't know before. It seems that Reardon hadn't made his call from the street box and the cars were scouting around trying to find out what had become of him. And here he was playing baseball!" "Imagine that!" said Carrie. But her heart was still elsewhere. She said, "Barbara says...." So they talked of how much money to send Barbara. And Carrie thought that nobody could tell _her_ how to manage a husband. You pretended to listen to him and whatever he said you let go in one ear and out the other, while you kept your mind on the really important thing. But she was to remember Reardon later. * * * * * The next day there was a rumpus at the school. What happened there was even more incredible than the doings of Reardon. The local Superintendent was proud of his neatly operated educational system, and had set that date for showing around a group of distinguished visitors.